What If?
by ethelbertina
Summary: AU What if Bobby and Alex weren't quite the people we know? Would they still be the same? Chapter 14 now up Logan reappears and a cameo from Ross.
1. Chapter 1

_Note/Disclaimer: I got to wondering one day whether Bobby and Alex would be the same people if their paths had taken a different turn. So while these characters belong to Dick and Rene and Vincent and Kathryn, I'm just taking them out for a stroll down the 'road not taken…" Hopefully they still seem like the same people, even if they're in a different context than usual. I have a couple of chapters in process detailing their meeting and getting to know one another. This is the first of them… others when I get them hashed out._

Chapter One – To Serve and Protect

She was sitting at her desk, doing the endless paperwork that comes with being a cop, shoving her long blonde hair out of her eyes, and wondering why some people seemed to think being a cop was so exciting. Mostly this job in Vice had forced her to cultivate an intimate relationship between her and her typewriter. It was rewarding getting low-lifes and perverts off the street, but that just meant endless variations of the same damn booking report. And today was no exception. She leaned back trying to work the cramp out of her neck when her phone rang. She sighed as she slid back from the typewriter stand and stood to reach for the phone.

"Eames," she answered crisply.

"Alex…"

"Sonny? Is that you?"

She suddenly she suspected she didn't want to know why her husband's partner was calling her.

"What's wrong?"

"Alex, its Joe. Oh God Alex, I don't know how to tell you this."

"Sonny, just tell me God damn it – is he hurt?"

"Alex, he's dead. Joe is dead."

Those three little words would change the whole course of her life. She felt her knees go weak, and it was as if someone had just punched her in the stomach. She couldn't seem to breathe. Someone had sucked all the air out of her lungs.

She tried to breathe, and she tried to think. The rational part of her brain could hear Sonny as he poured out a tale of shots fired and "blood everywhere, so much blood." As the daughter of a cop, the sister of a cop, the wife of a cop, and a cop herself, she always knew that a day like this could come, but how could she wrap your mind around the fact of those three little words … Joe is dead.

Some part of her brain was looking around the squad room, seeing everyone busy with their own tasks, and as she sank into her chair she wondered how to tell them this enormous thing.

"Alex, I've gotta go, the ME is here and I've got to talk to her. Will you be all right?

Yeah, Sonny, thanks. I'll talk to you soon…"

She hung up in a daze. Normally word of an officer down spreads like wildfire, but just for this moment, Alex realized, she was the only one in the room who knew. And how could she tell them? She just couldn't grasp what Sonny had said. Before she realized it, she was up and walking towards the front door. She had to be alone to think, and she just started walking. The anonymous crowds of people on the Manhattan sidewalks passed her by without a second glance. Eventually, she found herself in a tiny park next to a rather imposing church. Dropping down on a bench she sat and stared and wondered what she was going to do. As she sat there on a hard stone bench under a leafy green tree she thought back to her wedding day. There had been a church like this one with trees outside. And those words … "in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live…"

But this day there were no 'I dos,' no kisses in front of friends, there was only a gray empty future that Alex couldn't even begin to imagine. On that day there had been a husband to kiss away the tears… but on this day, there was no one -- would never be anyone --- and the tears rolled down her cheeks as she sat there sobbing, with her head in her hands.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder, and for a moment she wondered if somehow this had all been a dream, a mistake, maybe everything would be OK, and as she looked up she saw someone she had seen on her wedding day, a man dressed in black and white, but this time it wasn't a man wearing a tuxedo, this time she looked up to see a clerical collar – a priest. "Oh, God, why?" she gasped, looking up at the tall broad shouldered man who stood, looking down at her.

As she sat there, tears streaming down her face, hands limply in her lap, he sat down beside her and wondered how to answer this most familiar and most difficult question.

Not knowing exactly what to make of this small sobbing woman beside him he ran his hands through his hair and wondered how to give her what she needed. But before they got to the larger questions, he felt he had to concentrate on the immediate ones.

"Has someone hurt you, Miss?"

"Miss!" she thought, "what the hell?!"

"One of your … customers…" he tried again.

"Customers!" she snorted. She was up and walking away from him almost before he realized it. He followed her out onto the sidewalk, and again put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, but … the way you're dressed … I see a lot of girls like you who…"

Suddenly she realized how she must look. She hadn't even remembered that she was still dressed from her last collar in high-heeled boots, fishnet stockings, a black mini skirt, and a leopard-print halter-top.

She tried to laugh, but she found she had forgotten how. Today was no longer a day for laughter.

"I'm sorry, Father. No, see, I'm not usually…" As she searched for the right words, she wondered where her inner smart alec had gotten to. She was never at a loss for words. At any other time she might even have found this hilarious. As she stood there trying to find the words to explain, he put his hand on the small of her back and said "Why don't you come inside with me and we'll try and figure this all out."

Almost before she realized what he was doing, he led her inside the church and down a short hallway to his office. He sat her down, reached into his back pocket, pulled out a cloth hanky, handed it to her and poured her a glass of water.

He pulled a chair over and sat down facing her and asked, "Do you think you can tell me what's wrong?"

"What do you see when you look at me?" she asked him.

Leaning back in his chair he crossed his arms and idly rubbing his lips with the knuckles of his left hand, he stared at the small woman sitting across from him and sighed. She was mildly uncomfortable at the steady gaze from his golden brown eyes, but she was curious to see what he would say.

"I see a person who is obviously very upset by something. Something which has rocked her to her very core, and she is wondering how she will ever get through today, much less every day from now on."

Stunned, she looked back at him. "Father, you're a remarkable man."

"Please, call me Robert."

"Really?"

He smiled slightly. "I think I can be more help to you if you think of me as just a friend, and your friend's name is Robert."

"Well, remarkable Robert, thank you." She said with a ghost of a smile in her eyes. "I could use a friend today."

"Well, friend, can you tell me what brought you here?"

She paused and took a sip of water. She tried to think of what she could say to this man.

"Don't you even want to know why I think you're remarkable?"

"Oddly enough," he said, "I've been told that before, although it's usually not a compliment."

He didn't really want to be talking about himself she realized, but she wasn't ready to talk about her troubles either.

"You are remarkable because when I asked you what you saw when you looked at me, I expected you to say you saw a down-on-her-luck hooker.

"Are you?" he asked.

"No, not really," she said.

"Well, then, what is the reality? What should I be seeing?"

"The reality?"

"Yes"

"The reality is too horrible to contemplate." She said, dissolving back into tears.

He moved onto the couch beside her, took his handkerchief from her, wiped her cheeks, and looking deep into her eyes said "Please tell me. I'd like to help."

"Help me?"

Yes, that's what friends are for, aren't they?"

"I don't know. I don't really have a lot of friends. Not a lot of time for them in my line of work."

"That must get lonely."

"It does sometimes, but mostly I'm too busy to notice."

"What keeps you from noticing?" he asked softly.

"Being a Vice cop keeps me pretty busy."

"I see…" he said. "So that's why you're…"

"Yes … and no…"

"I see."

"No you don't. Not really."

"I'd like to try and understand."

She sighed suddenly and sprang up, set the glass of water on his desk and began pacing around the little room, examining the things around her and trying to keep from crying. Hanging on the wall behind the desk between two windows were several framed pictures and certificates. A small frame held his honorable discharge from the Army.

"You were in the Army?" She asked him.

"Yes, I joined up after high school, eager to see the world." She noticed a flicker of something in his eyes that belied his glib statement.

"So did you? See the world I mean."

"Yes, I was stationed in Germany, and did some short tours in Korea and Russia, traveled some of Europe, chased co-eds in England one summer…"

She looked at the name on the certificate --

Sergeant Robert O. Goren, U.S.A. CID.

Turning to him in surprise, "You were an Army cop?"

"Yes." She saw that flicker in his eyes again, and turned back to investigate the other things hanging on the wall – his whole life was right in front of her – his Army discharge, a degree in Psychology from Columbia, an ornate ordination certificate from Hudson Seminary, a doctorate from Yale Divinity School - but hanging in the midst of all the paper accolades, was a framed picture of a dark haired woman and two small boys.

"It's a long way from Army cop to priest isn't it?" she asked him.

"Each of us has our own journey" he replied cryptically, that dark look back in his eyes.

She wondered about the journey of this kind man who was so clearly uncomfortable talking about his past.

Sitting down on the couch next to him, she sighed. "We do, don't we."

"Where did yours begin?" he asked her.

"Queens" she said, with a ghost of a smile in her eyes.

"Ah, well that explains everything, now doesn't it," he teased gently.

"Yes… and no…"

So how does a little girl from Queens end up a Vice cop? He asked quietly.

"She follows in her father's footsteps" she replied.

"Daddy's girl, eh?"

"Well, it's sort of the family business -- although Dad was never in Vice -- and when I was growing up, playing cops and robbers with my brothers always seemed more fun than playing dress up with my little sister."

"But you ended up playing dress up after all, didn't you?" he said looking at her astutely.

Her eyes widened at him, and she nodded. "I've never thought of it like that."

"I was recruited for Vice out of the Academy. I don't think they knew what else to do with a tiny blonde woman cop except to hang her out in front of perverts."

"Are you good at it?"

Her eyes widened even further. "Yes, I am, actually."

"Good," he said. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure" she said warily.

He leaned forward, looking into her eyes "Is it something to do with your job that has you so upset?" He asked gently. "Did anyone hurt you?"

"Oh" she said quietly. "No, not in the way you mean."

"I'm glad," he said. "You must put yourself in harms way a lot."

"I guess. It's just part of the job."

"I know."

"You do, don't you."

"Yes."

"Like I said… remarkable…"

"I don't think so."

"Can I ask you something… Robert?"

"Anything, friend…"

"Alex."

"Alex?"

"Please call me Alex."

"What do you want to know, Alex?"

"Why?"

He sighed heavily, and this time it was his turn to pace around the small room. He wondered how many times people had sat in front of him asking the same question, and even with all his training, he never really knew what to say. He wanted to help them, and he wanted to help this woman too, but he needed some more information, and he was going to have to find a way to make her talk to him. Would the direct approach work, he wondered?

"Why what, Alex?"

"I don't… I can't… Oh, God, why??"

Ok, so the direct approach clearly wasn't going to work. He ran his fingers through his dark curly hair and tried to think.

"Where were you before you ended up here?" he finally asked her.

"At work."

"What were you doing there?"

"Writing up an arrest report on the latest creep who tried to get into my pants." She looked up at him, and added, "metaphorically speaking of course."

"Of course." He smiled back, taking in the very short skirt Alex had on.

This woman in his office was proving to be very intriguing.

"The arrest went as planned?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And so there you were, typing up your report about this creep, then what?"

"Then the phone rang."

"Who called?"

"It was Sonny."

"And what did Sonny want?"

"He wanted to tell me… to tell me…"

Oh, God, she thought, who am I? Why can't I just say it?

The man sat down on the couch next to Alex, and took her hands. He looked into her eyes and said "Alex. Please trust me. I want to help you but you have to tell me what's wrong. Close your eyes for me and take a deep breath."

With her eyes closed, and after she took that deep breath, he asked her another question. 

"Alex, who's Sonny?"

"My husband's partner."

Husband, he wondered. This was definitely a very intriguing woman. A married Vice cop. That had to make for interesting dinner conversations… and this husband had a partner, was he a business partner he wondered…

"He's dead," she said, bringing Robert's attention back to Alex.

Who's dead? Sonny?

No, my… my … HUSBAND. My husband is dead. Joe is dead. That's what Sonny called to tell me.

"How did he die, Alex?"

"They were on an undercover drug bust and…"

"Your husband was a cop too?"

"Yes. Narcotics."

"And something went wrong during the drug bust?"

"That's what he said. I heard Sonny saying something about a shooting and blood and that Joe was dead, and the next thing I know I was sitting on that bench looking up at you. So you tell me Robert. WHY? He was a good man, and a good cop, and he deserved to live a long, long time, not be gunned down when he was just doing his job…"

"I don't know why Alex." He said sadly.

"Why not?"

"Alex. I know you don't want to hear this, but there may not BE a reason why. Things happen. Bad things. And there's nothing we can do about them.

"What the hell kind of priest are you, anyway? You tell me to trust you, and I tell you the hardest thing I've ever had to say in my life, and you come back with "I don't know." Well screw you, Father!"

"Alex, wait."

And there was that hand on her shoulder again. She froze at the touch. He sensed her tension, but something told him to press past that initial tension and he wrapped his arms around her and just held her. At first she couldn't move. She was so angry she was shaking. And he just stood there and held her. She struggled to get away but he wouldn't let her go. And finally the anger turned into tears and she stood there sobbing and being held in the strong arms of this gentle man.

When her tears quieted some, he sat her back down on the couch, put his finger under her chin and tipped her head up so he could look into her eyes.

"Alex, please trust me. I will help you any way I can. But giving you some hollow reason isn't going to make you feel better. You're a cop. You know that these things happen. Your husband died in the line of duty. Maybe someday you will find the answers to your questions, and I will help you to understand this if I can. But please listen to me. What you need to know is that you are not alone. I'm here for you."

"But for how long?"

"As long as you need me to be."

"But you must be busy."

"Yes, my work does keep me pretty busy," he sighed.

She looked up at him and said quietly, "Robert, can I ask you something else?"

"Anything, Alex."

"Even questions you can't answer?"

"They're my specialty," he smiled.

"You're lonely too, aren't you?"

This woman and her questions, he thought… 

"I'm sorry, Robert, maybe I shouldn't have asked…"

He stood up, and walked behind his desk, gazing out the window towards the tree under which he had first seen her sitting.

"No, Alex, it's fine. I said you could ask me anything."

"But even if I could, maybe I shouldn't have…"

She watched him standing there across the room, gazing out the window and wondered what he was thinking about.

He was wondering how a woman he had only met such a short time ago could read him so well. This woman who looked so small and helpless was testing him in ways he was only beginning to realize -- in ways she couldn't know. While the priesthood was never something he looked at as an escape, it did give him some measure of protection from his complicated life, and for that he was grateful. He had a routine, and he liked routine. He had a purpose, and he needed that. But he had never before met someone who had so quickly gotten through the barriers that he had built around himself. And he was beginning to see that if he was really going to help this woman he was going to have to open himself up in ways he was never comfortable doing.

He was about to turn around when he felt her hand on his arm.

"Who's the woman in the picture, Robert?" she asked.

"My mother."

"Is one of the boys you?"

"Yes, the younger one. The other boy is my brother Michael."

I have two older brothers," she said, "one's a cop, the other's a fireman. I know all about trying to keep up with older brothers."

He sat down in the chair at his desk and looking down he said to her "well, in my case, 'keep up' turned into 'keep away.'"

"I'm sorry," she said, leaning against his desk. "Do you ever see him?"

"No."

"That's got to be tough."

"It was once, now it's not something I tend to think about."

"Until it gets thrown in your face by some strange woman."

"You are many things, Alex, but strange is not one of them."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Father!" she said, and smiled when he looked up in surprise. "Think about it," she continued "if someone were to come in here right now, what would they see? Father Robert Goren with a hooker behind his desk…"

He couldn't help but smile at her. "God loves all his children," he said laughingly, "so why shouldn't I?"

"Oh, Robert, what a priest you must be."

"Oh, Alex, what a cop you must be."

But neither of them was really thinking about their jobs.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Here's just a little piece of connective tissue on the way to more fun interactions between our two favorite people. _

Chapter Two – Chapter and Verse

They were silent for a few moments, and then he turned to her and said, "Would you like me to walk you back to your precinct?

"I did leave without saying anything to anyone, I suppose I should be getting back."

"They'll be wondering where you are."

"I'm kind of wondering that myself. When I got the news I just started walking without paying attention to where I was going."

"Well, Alex, welcome to St. Justin's – church, school, and shelter for the homeless. It's a busy place. I'd give you a tour, but I think we'd better get you back to work before they put out an A.P.B. on you, if they haven't already…."

Are you sure you have time to come with me? I don't want to keep you from your duties."

"It's no problem. A walk suits me just fine. I was starting to take a walk to think about my sermon when I ran into you earlier, anyway."

"Do you have a text?"

"That's part of the problem… I'm still trying to find one that speaks to me," he said.

"I guess we're both looking for divine inspiration aren't we?"

"Your precinct, which one is it?"

"Our Vice squad works out of the One-One."

"That's not too far away. Are you ready?"

"No fair asking me questions I can't answer. I almost ALWAYS have an answer for everything."

They walked back to her station house in companionable silence. Once in a while she'd point out some interesting character she'd noticed. Occasionally he'd mention the history or architecture of some building they passed. But for the most part they were content with their own thoughts. Eventually they stopped in front of a busy station house, with cop cars parked haphazardly out in front, and the usual assortment of officers coming and going.

"I guess I have to take it from here," she said. "Thank you Robert, for being there for me."

"You're welcome, Alex. I was happy I was there." He reached into his jacket pocket and handed her his card. "Please call me if there is anything you need, or even if you just want to talk. I'm a good listener."

"Bless you, Robert."

"Isn't that supposed to be my line?"

"Expect the unexpected when you're around me."

He leaned in and gave her a quick hug. She held onto him tightly for a moment her head nestled against his shoulder, her hands gripping his jacket sleeves, then sighing heavily, pushed herself away from him, and turned to go up the steps. Halfway up, she stopped. Looking thoughtful, she came back down the steps. Gazing up at her new friend she said, "You know, when I was a little girl, my mom used to drag all us kids to Mass every Sunday. I even won a couple prizes in Sunday School for memorizing bible verses. I hated being forced to wear a dress and being told to 'sit still and be a good girl,' but I had a good memory, and liked winning the prizes. It probably won't help your sermon, but there's something that keeps running through my mind. I haven't thought about this in years, but somehow…"

Smiling, she said, "When you get back to your office, take a look at Psalm 55, verses 13 and 14."

As she trotted back up the stairs in that ridiculous hooker get-up, he considered the very real possibility that God had a well-developed sense of humor.

Walking back to his office, he couldn't help but be amazed by the effect one small woman was having on his day. He'd gone out for a walk to clear his head and run into Alex weeping. He'd tried to help her begin to deal with this awful news about her husband's death, but in the end she'd turned the tables on him and was giving him texts for his sermon!

"Well, Goren," he thought to himself, "what is it they always say, that He works in mysterious ways?"

When he arrived back at his office, he sat down at his desk and started flipping through the well-thumbed Bible he'd left open there some hours before. He had to admit that as much as he'd studied this book in front of him, the Psalms always seemed to run together in his head. 

"Psalm 55, verses 13 and 14, hmmm?" Turning to the correct spot and running his finger down the page, he was stunned to read the verses she had given to him --

13 But it was thou, a man mine equal, my guide, and mine acquaintance.  
14 We took sweet counsel together, and walked unto the house of God in company.

Closing his eyes, he offered up a short, silent, but very fervent prayer of thankfulness for the forces that brought this woman into his life. Then he made an equally fervent vow to himself to try to find some way to keep her in his life. It wasn't often he met someone he felt so connected to. Too much had happened in his life to make finding and keeping friends an easy thing for him, but he couldn't help feeling, selfishly, that this woman's presence was given to him for some purpose, and he was going to try and cherish that gift if he could. At any rate, he was positive that this was someone he would really enjoy getting to know. She had depths that intrigued him, and he couldn't discount that odd feeling of connectedness. It was tenuous of course in someone he had just met, but nonetheless, it was there. Of that he was certain.

An introspective man by nature and by vocation, he wondered if this attraction wasn't just a physical response to an attractive woman. Certainly she had been wearing a very revealing outfit. But, the more he searched his feelings he realized that it wasn't really her revealing outfit that had attracted him. It was something else. Some intangible quality, a forthrightness, and a clarity about her personality. Somehow she had just KNOWN things about him that most people never picked up on. He had looked into her eyes and seen a wealth of wisdom therein, and he wondered whether anyone had ever really taken the time to get to know the woman he'd seen in those eyes. He hoped her husband had.

He could tell a lot about a person from their mannerisms, their speech, the way they tried to engage, or to avoid him. A student of human nature, he was skilled at reading people. But he sensed that this was a woman who would challenge his skills. He wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that she spent her days pretending to be someone she wasn't. He knew enough from his time in military intelligence to understand how working undercover for long periods could erode your sense of self. You got used to playing the game. You buried your true self in order to get the job done, but when the job was done, the self was still hidden and often took a lot of coaxing to come out of hiding. He suspected that Alex had been so floored by the news of her husband's death partly because she had still been in her snappy hooker persona when she heard the news.

And suddenly he realized something else about this woman that he had just met; he realized that she hadn't been intimidated by him. Thinking back over her angry outburst he smiled, realizing that for the first time in a very long time someone had told him to go screw himself. People were usually so careful around him. They were so concerned about offending him, or of violating their preconceived notions about him.

He hoped that someday he could fulfill his promise to her to help her and to be her friend.

At the very least he could let her know just how much inspiration he derived from the words she had given him. He was lost in thought for a while turning over the verses she had suggested, and working out some ideas about walking into the presence of God in the company of others, and how he could use that in his sermon. Finally, he flipped open the well-worn leather binder sitting on his desk, pulled out his favorite pen, and after thinking for a moment, he began to write.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I've always loved epistolary fiction, so I just had to give it a try…_

Chapter Three -- Correspondence

Thursday evening, May 3rd

Dear Alex,

While it's not an everyday occurrence for me to send someone a thank you note for a sermon idea, today wasn't an everyday kind of day … so here's my first and only sermon Thank You. Your choice of text was inspired. I'm sitting here at my desk full of ideas and about to get back to work, but first I wanted to let you know how very much I appreciated your help.

Also, it occurs to me I never did answer your question about whether or not I'm lonely, and you deserve an answer. Admittedly, I wasn't sure how to respond when you first asked. People say I tend to over-think things, and they're not wrong. But I hesitated because I hadn't thought of myself in those terms until you asked me the question. I have work which is challenging, but which I love, and that keeps me busy much of the time. I've moved around a lot since those early days in the Army, had what could diplomatically be described as a challenging childhood, and my family connections are complicated, so I've lived a somewhat solitary life. But what I realized is that when it comes right down to it, the answer to your question is, simply, yes, I AM lonely a lot of the time. My job puts up some impediments to close personal relationships, and maybe I should have been more inspired to find ways around those walls. Maybe its time I walk not only into the house of God in company, but into my life as well.

So if you find over the next difficult days and weeks that you need a friendly ear, I'm here.

One day I hope we can meet and talk again under happier circumstances. I would enjoy that very much.

Ever,

Robert

------------------------------------------

Thurs., 10 May

Robert,

One good thank you note deserves another I think. Someday you'll have to tell me how you managed to sweet talk (or strong arm?) the desk sergeant into personally delivering your note to me. Those must have been some mighty powerful words to get that poor man to drive all the way out here to Rockaway Beach, you silver-tongued devil you.

I have to admit it has been tough going here -- some days are better than others -- but it's just so unimaginably difficult to have to rebuild my life. Everything is so different and so empty and there are lots of nights with little sleep. Not unlike tonight. I'm sitting here in this lonely house trying not to think about how empty it feels without Joe here. I stayed with my parents the first few nights, but after the funeral it just felt like I had to come back here and face this house and this emptiness. I don't know what I think I have to prove, but anyway, here I am.

It's funny. You speak of how few connections you have to other people, and I think I'm just the opposite. Between my family and Joe's, and all the folks from work, I've been swamped with people taking care of me. All that support is really heart-warming. But at the end of the day they all have their own lives and families to return to. And I'm left sitting on the couch with a pint of rocky road ice cream and some useless program flickering on the TV. By day, I'm hard-nosed, no-nonsense Detective Alexandra Eames... but by night, I turn into this pathetic heap of woman who really just wants to know who ate all her ice cream while she wasn't looking...

But tonight at least I have this letter to send. And the hope that someone out there does understand the feelings you feel when its 3 o'clock in the morning and you find you must now live a completely different life than the one you had planned on living. Whatever your journey was from Army CID to Priest, you must understand a little of what I'm trying to say, eh Robert?

There was an odd analogy that flickered through my head at the funeral. Everyone there was dressed in black and blue -- the black colors worn by our mourning families, and the black and blue dress uniforms of all the cops, and it seemed to me the perfect reflection of how I was feeling ... black and blue ... bruised ... battered by life.

So here we are, both trying to forge our way into new worlds. I start back to work on Monday. Maybe we could meet some night for dinner and a chat? I have no idea what your schedule is like, but you must have some evenings free? I can promise to be more respectably dressed the next time I see you... but I don't promise to have any fewer questions! (And I still really want to hear about your magical powers over Sergeant Murphy...)

--Alex


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: For what it's worth, canon tells us that Joe died sometime around 1998 ("The War at Home") so that's when all this is taking place. Alex is a detective at this point in my world, but she is probably still carrying a silver shield. I suspect the gold shield, the 1st grade promotion, and the transfer to Major Case happened about the same time, but those events are still down the road a bit further in this timeline. Most of this stuff is inspired by all the episodes where they look at each other and say "Let's Play!"_

Chapter Four – Playtime

"Ok, Simmons. I've had it. It's 7 pm and I am leaving. The rest of this paperwork will still be here in the morning."

"What's up Eames, got a hot date?" said her partner Ray, aware that his teasing might be taken the wrong way by someone who had lost her husband a few weeks earlier. But that was the way they were, never serious, always joking around. And he didn't want that to change. Besides he was sure that she'd come back with some smart-ass comment to put him in his place. So he was unprepared for the silence that had followed his jibe. When he didn't hear Alex say anything, he looked up at her and saw in her eyes a mixture of amusement and tension.

He almost fell off his chair when she finally said "Well, what's it to you if I do?"

Always one to keep it light, he shot back. "Hey, whatever floats your boat. Just be careful. There are all kinds of weirdos out there."

Her snort allayed his fears, but only for a short time when she smilingly said, "Weirdos are my specialty. You should meet this guy I'm going out with tonight. It's our first date, so I don't want to get my hopes up…"

"Eames…"

"Simmons?"

They just stared at each other for a moment, and before they could continue, her phone rang. Picking it up with her usual crisp "Eames" she nodded and said "Okay, no problem Murphy. Hey, send him on up will you. Thanks."

"Well, Simmons, it seems you get to meet my date. You better be nice to him, or God knows what he might do to you."

"God knows, hmmm?"

"You have no idea…" she said, laughing to herself.

She started gathering her things together and Simmons just sat and watched her warily. She was acting very unlike herself and he didn't know if he should be worried or not. He decided he was going to have to check this guy out and see what was up with a man who would date a widow of two weeks.

She knew Ray was probably watching her, although she wouldn't look at him. She wasn't sure why she was playing with him like this, but something about characterizing her going out with Robert as a date amused her immensely. She almost couldn't wait to introduce these two men. Then, as if on cue, Robert poked his head through the squad room doors.

He looked around, located her, waved, and started towards her desk.

As he walked towards her, she was suddenly a little shy. She realized that the last, and only, time she'd seen him he'd been wearing his clerical collar. Now he was wearing a pair of dark pants and a casual cloth shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and he had a brown overcoat slung over his arm. Plus, as he stopped in front of her, she realized just how tall he really was. Much of their first meeting was a bit hazy for her, and she began to realize how little she knew about this man standing in front of her.

"Alex? Everything OK?" he finally said, leaning over a bit trying to establish eye contact. He'd had no trouble recognizing her. It helped that she was the only woman in the room, but besides that, there was just something about the way she carried herself. He realized that he'd been staring at her and she had yet to respond to his greeting, but finally he heard her say, "Oh, no, Robert, everything's fine."

"You look nice."

"Thanks." With a wicked gleam in her eye she said to him, "I told you I'd be wearing more clothes than the last time you saw me."

Before he could think of what to say in response, her partner stood up, walked around their desks, cleared his throat and said, "Hi, I'm Ray Simmons, Alex's partner."

Robert shook Ray's hand, instantly recognizing the thinly-veiled tension in the man's introduction. Wanting to put Ray at ease, he started to explain.

"Ray, it's nice to meet you. I don't know what Alex's told you about me but I…"

Alex realized she'd better jump in, but at the same time she realized she could have some more fun with this.

"Robert, I was just telling Ray about you before you arrived."

"Well, actually we hadn't gotten much beyond me warning her about the wackos that are out there preying on young women. First dates can be especially dangerous…"

"See what working Vice does to a man, Robert? Ray has a very suspicious mind. I warned him to be careful as God knows what you might do to him."

She looked up at him her eyes dancing with suppressed laughter, willing him to understand and hoping he might just play along.

Two can play at this game, he thought to himself, not sure why she was in such a mischievous mood, but he could read the entreaty in her eyes and was more than happy to play along.

"You know, Ray," he said leaning into Simmons, "I'm sure you have Alex's best interests at heart." He took a step into Ray and used his height to its full advantage. Simmons wasn't short by any means, but at 5'10" Alex's date towered over him by a good six inches. Looking down at Ray he dropped his voice to conspiratorial levels and said, "and God knows some of my …colleagues… have described me as, well, somewhat unorthodox, but you can be certain that I'll see to it that Alex gets exactly what she deserves. And now, Alex, if you're ready I think we should be going."

Before she could even think about responding he reached out, put his hand on her arm and guided her out the doors of the squad room and down the steps onto the sidewalk.

"Robert?"

"Yes?"

"That was some performance."

"Too much?"

"Well let's just say I've never seen Simmons speechless before. Is it very wicked of me to have enjoyed that?"

"Probably."

"You were a good sport. I still can't believe you said what you said. Do the others really think you're unorthodox?"

"Let's just say that we've had some very spirited debates and let it go at that."

"I suspect you enjoy a good argument."

"I also enjoy a good meal. There's a diner a few blocks over with good coffee, decent food, and great pie. Sound good?"

"Sounds great, I'm starved."

"Off we go then. Oh, and on the way over there Alex, you can try and convince me that you didn't pull that stunt just because you were trying to avoid Ray asking too many questions about us…"


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting this – poor Bobby and Alex have been stuck in this diner for way too long – but my muse went into hibernation. Oh, and since Warren and Marsha transformed Michael into Frank, so did I. Then I went and got a bit creative about Frank's fall from grace. Now I just have to figure out where to take them all from here. I didn't expect Bobby to open up to Alex as much as he did, but maybe he needed to talk about his brother. Hopefully it's reasonably realistic and mostly in character – and points to those who can spot the links to seasons one and two…_

Chapter Five – Diner's Club

As he held the door of the diner open for her, she was continuing their good-natured argument, "You can't tell me you really believe that …"

"I see your point, but I don't think you're seeing this thing from all the angles. Is this booth back here ok?" He asked her indicating one in a quiet corner of the diner.

"Sure."

As they took their seats, the waitress came over. "Two coffees?" she asked. Robert looked at Alex who nodded in the affirmative.

"Yes, thanks, uh, Verna" he replied to the waitress, reading her nametag.

"Cream?"

"No thanks" they replied in unison. As Verna headed back to get the coffee the sound of joined laughter followed her.

"So, we've established that we both take our coffees black. You think that's the basis for a long and meaningful friendship?" Alex said.

"I suppose friendships have been based on less," he said, "but hopefully we have more in common than just coffee. Otherwise we'll run out of conversation before we even get to dessert."

They paused to look up at Verna who put down two coffee cups and filled them. She handed them two plastic covered menus from her apron, and then returned to the counter to refill the coffee cups of the customers sitting there.

"Sugar?" she said.

"No thanks" he replied, and then realized that she was in fact asking him to pass her the sugar. "Sorry. I guess we don't take our coffee the same way after all."

"I suppose it was too perfect to last," she said, smiling. "I learned to add lots of sugar from years of drinking that sludge the precinct house considers coffee."

As he handed her the little jar with the hole in the top which held the sugar, he started to say "I learned to drink it black in the army. Sugar was for …" He trailed off as he watched her pour an ungodly amount of sugar into her cup. "…sissies. You like a little coffee with your sugar there Alex?"

"Yup. Got a problem with that Goren?"

"Do I look stupid enough to admit it even if I did, Eames?"

"Smart man. So what looks good?"

He looked down at the menu the waitress had left. "They do a good burger, or if you're particularly forward thinking, they have a couple of nice breakfast platters."

"Breakfast, huh? I suppose I could get a jump on tomorrow by eating breakfast now and spend the extra time in bed. Not a bad idea, actually. I am NOT a morning person."

"Is Vice a help with that? I suppose you must work a lot of nights. It could be a good line of work for a night owl."

"It depends. I've been working days since I came back, but I suppose pretty soon Cap'll be putting me back out on the streets and that means working into the wee hours. I've always been a night person though, so it doesn't really bother me. What about you?"

"Between the early hours in the army, and early morning mass at the church, I guess I've become a morning person by default."

"But you must have some preference. On the days where you can just sleep in, do you want to be up early, or would you rather stay in bed?"

"I don't actually remember the last time I slept in. That hasn't been an option for me with my obligations, and well, I don't sleep that much, anyway. Never did."

He breathed a small sigh of relief when the waitress arrived at their table to take their orders and interrupted their conversation before he had to elaborate any more on his sleeping habits, or lack thereof. There were many things he wasn't comfortable talking about.

"You kids decided what you're having?" Verna asked them as she laid out placemats, napkins, and silverware.

Their eyes grinned at each other over being called kids. She decided on the veggie omelet with a fruit plate on the side. He followed her lead with the breakfast food and ordered the blueberry pancakes and sausage.

As Verna went off, calling their orders to the bored looking cook leaning on the kitchen pass-through sucking on a toothpick, their eyes met and suddenly she knew he wanted to ask her the question she had tried not to see flickering in his eyes the whole time they'd been together.

In turn, he realized that the conversation he'd been so unsure about beginning had in fact already started. How she knew what he was about to ask he had no idea, but he was certain she not only knew but was halfway to answering without his having to say a word.

"ARE you OK, Alex?" he asked softly, acknowledging his unspoken question, and her unspoken answer. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to…"

He trailed off as he saw her eyes begin to glisten with tears she was valiantly trying to hold back.

He reached his hands out to her across the table and she grabbed onto him, and held on with an iron grip as she struggled to get herself under control.

He could see in her eyes everything she wanted to say but couldn't. Clearly her grief was very fresh and near the surface. It was also clear to him that she was struggling to remain in control of her feelings.

They sat there silently, content to let their unspoken conversation say everything that needed to be said.

Eventually, their reverie was broken by the re-appearance of Verna. "You two lovebirds need a refill on those coffees?"

"Actually, more coffee would be perfect," said Alex, as they let go of each others hands, laughing at the waitresses assumption of their relationship.

Verna filled up the coffees, and went off, as Alex again poured tons of sugar in her cup.

"How can you drink it like that?" he asked her. "There's so much sugar in there the spoon can probably stand up on its own!"

"Listen Goren, if we're going to be friends, you're just going to have to accept my little peculiarities. I'm sure there are things you do that are going to bug the crap out of me. I can just tell."

"Oh you can, can you?"

"Yep, I'm talented that way. I learned the hard way growing up with lots of brothers."

"You mentioned two brothers that first day in my office, there are others?"

"Yep, lotsa Eames kids. There's my oldest brother John Jr., then Patrick, me, my sister Kathleen, and the baby of the family, Sean."

"Which one's the cop?"

"Aside from yours truly of course?"

"Of course."

"J.R. my oldest brother. Patrick's the fireman, Kathleen teaches second grade, and Sean the runt is in grad school at NYU studying ways to avoid graduating."

"Perpetual student?"

"Chronic. And you, is it just you and your brother?"

"Yes, just the two of us."

"They break the mold after they make you?"

"Yeah, well, something like that. Broken is a very apt word, Alex. It's complicated, and I…"

"Robert, I'm sorry. It's really none of my business."

"It's just… just not easy for me to talk about."

"Hey, no pressure, OK. We barely know each other. We ran into one another when I was having a very bad day, and now we're meeting over coffee. We can leave the deep discussions until we've at least had dessert together."

"Just because it's hard doesn't mean it shouldn't be done."

"You don't have to say anything, but I'll listen to whatever you feel comfortable telling me."

"I'm not sure what to say, really. It's complicated. But since we're talking about brothers, let me start there. My parents have their own problems, but they both expected a lot from their sons. They were particularly tough on Frankie. As the eldest he was under a lot of pressure to succeed. Report card day was torture around our house. I was always in trouble for one thing or another, but my brother always had his head screwed on straight. When he was eleven and saw men land on the moon, he decided then and there that he was going to become a scientist and work for NASA."

"Think about it Bobby," he'd say. "Wouldn't you like to walk on the moon like the astronauts, or maybe fly around in a space ship?"

"I'd call him a "space cadet" and run outside and play with the neighborhood kids, but he didn't care. My… my parents were screaming and fighting a lot back then, and when they'd go at it and I got scared, I'd climb into bed with Frank and he'd make up stories about all the planets he was going to visit someday, and invent weird aliens to meet – there was this giant radioactive cockroach he made up that I really liked a lot. Those other worlds were always so much better than the one we were living."

"Growing up he was totally focused on that one goal, he never lost sight of his dream. Everyone loved Frank, including me. He was a great big brother to look up to. He played baseball –- he used to bore me silly describing it in terms of the physics involved -- dated nice girls, made good grades, even got himself a full scholarship to Hudson. When he left for college, he was lived in a dorm in the city and I think the freedom went to his head. He was having a great time in college, free as a bird, always telling me about all these great parties he'd gone to. Then he made the monumentally stupid decision to look up our Dad, who had left us years before."

"How old were you when he left?"

"I was eleven and Frank was fourteen. We didn't see too much of him after that – he'd call us on the phone from time to time and give us lectures about how we weren't living up to the Goren name. In retrospect I don't know what he thought there was to live up to. Dad would bartend occasionally at his pal Ferdie's tavern, but mostly he spent his days at the track and his nights drinking up the profits. Oh, he was a bastard who walked out on his family, but he was also very, very charming. Smart and charismatic, he could talk on just about any topic, especially with a few drinks in him. On his own for the first time, I can only imagine how romantic a figure Dad seemed to Frank."

"Romantic? Really?"

"Well, attractive, you know? Someone you always had a good time with. When you were around him, the day just seemed a little brighter. In no time Dad had Frank under his wing, taking him to the track and to private poker clubs. My brother was something of a math whiz and that just added to the appeal of gambling. He taught himself to count cards and convinced himself he'd figured out how to beat the system. A little extra money, the chance to reconnect with my father, looking back I can't really blame him for going down that path. At the time, though, it just seemed like he'd turned his back on us. We'd meet up sometimes at this pool hall in the old neighborhood and he'd tell me how great it was that for the first time in his life the old man was proud of him. I was bitter and jealous that he was having a great time, meanwhile I was stuck at home trying to take care of things there. We always ended up fighting about it. I used to accuse him of being 'Daddy's trick pony' just to piss him off."

At this point in Robert's story, they were interrupted by the appearance of Verna with their food. "Here we are, an omelet for the lady, and pancakes for the gentleman. I'll be back in a minute to refill your coffees."

"This looks great. Breakfast was a good idea, Robert."

"When you get to work tomorrow, tell Ray I bought you breakfast," he said winking at her. "That'll really throw him for a loop."

"You are delightfully wicked for a man of the cloth you know."

"I'm no saint Alex, as I'm sure you're figuring out. Now where was I?"

"You were pissing your brother off."

"Right, so, I was sixteen, and angry, and I decided I wanted nothing more to do with our father. For years after he left I had tried everything I could think of to get his attention, but it never worked. So eventually I said the hell with it. I didn't need him, or anyone else for that matter. I did OK in high school, but I never cared enough to do really well. So a couple years later when that Army recruiter came to talk to us, I thought I'd found all the answers. College money when I got out, and meanwhile, a chance to walk away from a family who'd already walked away from me. Signed up, packed up, said my goodbyes, and I was off for the grand adventure of my life. But, as a consequence, I lost touch with my brother. We wrote occasionally, but he had his life and I had mine. The next thing I know it's ten years later. I'm back in New York starting my degree at Columbia while he's been working for the Feds doing some research he says he can't talk about. I grew up a lot during those ten years in the Army, and I really tried to put my family back together again when I got out."

"It didn't work, did it?"

"No, it didn't. Gambling ended up taking over my brother's life, just as drinking took over my father's. Eventually the gambling cost him his job, his fiancée, and his apartment. He crashed with me for a while after it all went south for him. Always wanted to take me along, talked about "teaching me the ropes." Like I was going to let him do to me what our old man did to him! Kept trying to hit me up for money, but even if I'd wanted to I didn't have any to give him. I had to… well … there were other obligations I had to meet. He started not coming home for longer and longer stretches of time. Eventually he stopped coming at all."

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know. I've been looking for him for years, but I've never been able to find him. I imagine him out on the streets, cold, lonely, and friendless and it tears me up inside. From time to time I'll get word from some shelter that he's been there but he never stays long enough for me to make contact. And even if I found him, there's no guarantee that he'd let me help him."

"But you would if you could Robert."

"I do what I can Alex, but it never feels like enough."

"St. Justin's has a great reputation for its work with the homeless."

"I know. It's one of the reasons I wanted to be assigned there. The homeless have so many problems, so many needs that I'm uniquely equipped to deal with. Father McShale and I try and do as much outreach as we can. Some nights I just walk the streets hoping against hope that I'll see him."

"Well, if you're ever out late and meet up with a sassy blonde hooker named Lexie, try not to blow her cover."

"Lexie?!"

"Yeah, well you can blame Ray for that one too. He thought it was funny to call me 'sexy Lexie' until my right knee and I taught him just how unfunny it really was. "

While Robert was laughing over her remark, Verna appeared at their table. "You folks need anything else?" she asked as she cleared their dirty dishes onto her tray.

"No thanks Verna," Alex replied. "We're good here."

"I suppose we should think about going."

"It's a bit of a drive for me back to Rockaway. Which reminds me, Robert, just what did you say to Sergeant Murphy to get him to deliver your letter to my house?"

"You couldn't get it out of Murphy?"

"He wouldn't tell me a thing, the rat."

"Some detective you are."

"Come on Robert, spill."

"As luck would have it, I've known Aidan Murphy for a long time. We grew up in the same neighborhood in Brooklyn, and well, there are a few things that I know about him that he wouldn't care to have repeated around the squad room. But more importantly, his mother lives out in Far Rockaway, and he said he'd drop my letter off on his way out to see her. So I hate to disappoint you, but it wasn't my great powers of persuasion."

"Here you are, shattering all my illusions."

"I'm a very ordinary, very flawed man Alex."

"No, see, Robert, ordinary I don't buy. Messed up like the rest of us maybe, but never ordinary. Any little boy who prefers a galaxy populated by giant glowing cockroaches to real life couldn't grow up and be ordinary."

"Sadly."

"I don't know about that. You clearly had a tough childhood, and I suspect there's a lot more to the story as well. But all those experiences have made you who you are. A lot of that day we met is a blur for me, but I clearly remember you sitting there telling me 'we all have our own journey.' For good or ill, who we are led us down a path that intersected in that park outside your church, and I will always be grateful for that. So never apologize to me for who you are. Just be my friend, and I'll be yours, and together we'll get each other through the darker corners of our lives."

"Alex, I…"

"There's no need to say anything. Let's go settle up with Verna. Next week, I'm buying."

"Next week?"

"Sure, why not? You raved over the pie, and we never did get dessert. I'll give you a week to figure out what my favorite kind of pie is."

"What do I get if I guess it?"

"You'll have to meet me here next Thursday night to find out."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six -- "There's Got to be a Morning After"

_a/n: I thought this was going to be fairly short, but it turned out to be fun to write, so it got longer with more dialog. Enjoy._

Friday Morning

Vice Squad Room, 3rd floor, 11th Precinct NYPD

Manhattan

9:12 a.m.

She saw him through the glass doors of their squad, sitting at his desk with his feet up, pretending to read the Ledger. She knew he was waiting and watching for her, but she was happy to prolong his misery for a little while longer. So, she stopped by the locker room and put some things away there, she stopped by the rest room and fixed her hair, stopped by the coffee pot in the corner of their office and got herself a morning cup of oversweet coffee, and finally made her way across the room to their desks. As further proof of her supposition that he wasn't really reading, Ray hadn't moved from the moment she'd first seen him ten or so minutes before.

"Morning Ray, what's the score?"

"You tell me Eames."

"Well you're not reading a Beethoven sonata. You've been staring at that sports page for the past ten minutes. I thought you might know by now whether the Dodgers or the Yankees won last night."

"Why don't you ask your new boyfriend."

"What, that guy from last night? Well, I'm not sure, but I think he's a Cardinal's fan. We didn't really find time to discuss baseball."

"What did you find time to discuss?"

"Don't interrogate me Ray."

"Someone has to talk some sense into you."

"Who died and made you my keeper?"

"Your husband. Remember him?"

"Do you think I'd forgotten him?"

"You're sure acting like it."

Instead of threatening him with some creative method of death as he expected, he was stunned when Alex started to laugh. She laughed even harder when she saw the expression on Ray's face. She pulled her chair out, sat down, wiped her eyes, and finally said, "You should see yourself."

"What's so goddamn funny Eames?"

"You are, you jackass. Now sit down and behave yourself."

"Look who's talking…"

"Sit down Ray, and maybe you'll learn something."

"I've been a cop for 22 years. I know when something feels hinky. And that guy was hiding something."

"He's hiding a lot of things, but that's not really the point."

"It's exactly the point."

"You know, when we were having breakfast he told me you'd be like this."

"You… he… breakfast … Eames you didn't?"

"Didn't what, Ray? Have breakfast with him? Go out with him? Sleep with him? What is it you really want to know? By the way, and just for the record, he's the one who suggested I tell you we had breakfast together."

"Well he's just all full of himself isn't he?"

"No, actually, humility is something of a job requirement for him."

"Stop jerking me around Eames and just tell me. Do I need to get in my truck and go find him and kick his ass?"

"You'd never find him."

"I'm a cop. I could find him."

"You'd be looking in all the wrong places."

"Where should I look?"

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

"Ok. You would likely find him hanging around Avenue B and 10th, next to the park. But I wouldn't suggest you go hunt him down. He's ex-army. He could hurt you."

"Eames, there's nothing at Avenue B and 10th except that big stone church. Now get serious and tell me whether I need to worry about this guy."

"I told you that you wouldn't believe me."

"You expect me to believe that modest yet dangerous Mr. ex-army works at that church."

"Yup."

"As what? An undercover nun?"

"No, as himself. I know I should have introduced him properly last night, but well, frankly it was much more fun to torture you."

"You're doing a damn good job of it."

"Relax Ray. Do you remember the day Joe got shot and you and the Captain were looking for me to give me the bad news, and couldn't find me?"

"Of course."

"Well, what I never told you was that I already knew Joe was dead. Sonny had called me earlier when you were downstairs handling that booking. After I got that phone call I just couldn't sit here and hear the news all over again. I started walking and ended up in the park by Avenue B and 10th. The man you met last night found me there, and took me across the street into his office and helped me begin to deal with everything. That man is FATHER Robert Goren – CID, BA, DoD, PhD -- and he works there at St. Justin's."

"Alexandra Eames, you are NOT dating a priest."

"No, I'm not, you idiot. And keep your voice down. Everyone in here doesn't need to know the details of my private life. I didn't even really want to tell YOU!"

"So all that jazz about "God knows …" and him being "unorthodox," what was that, just an excuse to screw with my head?"

"No. Well, not altogether. It was fun to screw with your head, but nothing I said was exactly untrue. He is a priest. He is my friend. And we did have breakfast together -- at a diner at 8 o'clock last night. We sat at a booth, and our waitresses name was Verna. He bought me an omelet and we talked."

"Eames, you are such dead meat."

"No I'm not. You deserved it. Besides… I have God on my side." And smiling, she went off to refill her coffee mug.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – "Dear Tommy"

_a/n: since the last chapter was all Alex, this one is all Bobby. In trying to figure out where all this is going (you'll know when I do…) I decided that Bobby needed a mentor in addition to Declan… one who most likely put him on the road to the priesthood. So while I figure out all the backstory, here's a tiny little slice of Bobby's relationship to his former Army chaplain and dear friend … we'll see, or hear more from him in the future._

Fr. Ignacio L. Tomas, S.J.

Unit 74114, Korea

APO AP 96255

June, 1998

Dear Tommy,

Thanks so much for your early birthday present. I know no one else who would think to send me a collection of historical Zen poetry by Korean monks. I'd read some of them before in other English language anthologies, but it was a real pleasure to have the opportunity to brush up on my Korean and read them in their original. There's something refreshing about them. They are crisp and spare with such a feeling of space and light, yet so dense and thoughtful. Such a wonderful gift from my friend the "warrior poet priest!" I know I can always count on you for the foreign editions of things. Likewise, if you can think of anything else you'd like me to send you to read from this side of the big pond, let me know. I'm currently working my way through a mystery written by Raoul Sabatelli, an upstart New York City judge who's taken up writing in his spare time. This first novel of his is quite a barnburner and not much of an actual mystery, but a good light read before bed. I'll send it along to you when I'm finished with it, you might get a kick out it. Or pass it along to the boys on the base, I know they can always use some new novels…

Work continues apace here. Our service to the homeless is rewarding, but often frustrating to me. It's so good to be able to serve these people's short term needs – food, shelter, clothing, warmth, and fellowship – but there's so little we can do for them in any kind of permanent way. And really, most of the people we see are just grateful for someone to interact with them on a real human level. They get so used to being ignored and bypassed on a daily basis, that to have someone interested in them is a blessing. Some of their stories would break your tender heart, Tommy.

Speaking of broken hearts reminds me I should confess there's been something of a small miracle here – at least I'm sure that's how you'd characterize it. I've made myself a new friend. Yes, "Goren, that impenetrable fortress" has a chink in his battlements. It's so strange. I've distanced myself from people for so long, that it's hard to let someone new in. But she sort of fell into my life, (yes, she!) and odd as it seems, it was like we were supposed to meet. I was having trouble with a sermon, and decided to go for a walk. You know how that always clears my head. I'd only made it as far as the park next to the church when I saw the most bedraggled hooker you've ever seen sobbing on a bench. She was just a tiny bit of a thing, sitting there crying her eyes out. When I got her back to my office to find out what was wrong, I found that appearances were deceiving in this case. She turned out to be an undercover Vice cop who had just learned that her husband, also a cop, had been killed in the line of duty.

Rough stuff. I could have used you around; I hardly knew what to say to her. KIA's aren't exactly my specialty, that's more your line of work. She's a fierce and fragile woman Tom. When she didn't like the answers I was giving her, Alex told me in no uncertain terms what I could do to myself! But at the same time I suspect I'm one of the few people who's ever seen her cry. And she sees right through me. It sounds so trite to say two lonely people found each other, but it's a little bit true. We met for dinner the other night and she's clearly not come to terms with her husband's death. Puts on a brave face, but here's the thing Tommy – I see through her too. She covers up her feelings with a rapier like Irish wit. But that's OK. I'm not the most forthcoming individual either. I did find myself opening up to her a little bit about Frank the other night, which surprised me. Oh, by the way, no new developments on that front, I'm still looking and hoping.

Well, I suppose I ought to wrap this up. As usual, it's the middle of the night – when else do I find the time to write you – and I have to be up in a few hours to officiate at Mass.

Take care, old friend. You are ever in my prayers, as I seek to follow your guidance and find God in all things…

Always,

Bobby

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Fr. Robert O. Goren

St. Justin's Parish

Manhattan, NYC

My dear boy,

I am shuddering to think of what our country is coming to when a sitting judge takes up writing novels! Justice should be blind, not preoccupied with re-writes. Ah well, I suppose it serves to make him more popular, and that's all that seems to matter these days, I fear.

So my dear Roberto has found himself a friend? Or would it be more correct to say that a new friend has found Roberto? As you say, small miracles … or maybe not so small, eh? There are angels everywhere my boy, even those who come to us in the guise of a Magdalene. God's mysteries are all around us, if we can but open our eyes to them. But enough preachment from an old man, enjoy this new friend. As she moves through her grief she will need someone she can lean on from time to time. A strong familial support system is crucial, but she may need a more impartial person as well. She may not want to add to the burdens of others who are grieving alongside her.

You will find the words you need to help this woman. Your life has not been untouched by death and loss. Loss has been nipping at your heels your whole life. It is perhaps not so surprising that you find sudden abundance so strange. Your empathy is your strength 'Berto. Let it guide you. You must have the will to be the flint for her steel.

I have only one caution, and pardon an old man for saying this, but please, do not take her into an art gallery until you have known each other for a while, and learned to argue as good friends do. You know you can't help yourself! And your taste in art, is, well, not for the faint-hearted!

Keep in touch dear friend, and blessings to you and your new friend, Alex.

Pax,

Tommy


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 – Pie Chart

_a/n: I've been thinking about this story a lot and I am not exactly sure where it wants to go overall … but in the short term it's time to deal with the burning question of Alex Eames' favorite kind of pie… first we had letters, and now phone conversations. Gotta mix things up y'know…_

Father Robert Goren was returning from a routine Thursday morning spent doing hospital visits at Bellvue, and as he went down the hall to his office, he heard one of the Church secretaries calling to him.

"Father! You have some phone messages. Johanna was in earlier and she left these for you."

He stopped in the secretary's office to pick up the message slips.

Louise continued, "There's one from the bakery about a billing issue with the deliveries to the shelter, one from old Mrs. Calhoun asking for some extra hand-holding, and one from some guy named Alex about not being able to make it for dinner."

"Thanks, Louise. I'll take care of these."

The first two messages didn't worry him. The bakery was always screwing things up with their billing. Mrs. Calhoun was one of his pet projects, and frequently a little needier than he would like, but he knew she was just old and lonely. He had a fleeting thought about how he always seemed to be dealing with needy old women, but quickly turned his thoughts to the last message. Written in Johanna's precise old-school penmanship was a note that said "Please let Father Goren know that something has come up and I won't be able to meet him for dinner tonight. Have him give me a call and we'll see if we can find a time to reschedule -- Alex."

He dropped the messages on his desk along with his binder, and paused to hang his overcoat up on the coat rack in his office. Sighing loudly he dropped into the chair behind his desk and rubbed his hands through the curls on the back of his head in frustration. Leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling, he hoped that everything was OK with Alex. Alex… he smiled at Louise's assumption that the message was from a man. "Her full name is probably Alexandra," he mused. "I wonder if anyone ever calls her that?"

"Does she have any idea that her name means "man's defender," he wondered idly. The irony of that made him smile. "Well, no time like the present," he thought to himself, reading the message over again. Besides, he'd been looking forward to their dinner all week. Picking up the phone he dialed her precinct.

"11th Precinct, Vice. How may I help you?"

"Detective Alex Eames, please."

After several more rings while they transferred the call he heard voice say, "Simmons."

"Oh, Ray, hello. I was looking for Alex."

"Who is this?"

"Oh, sorry. It's Robert. Robert Goren."

At the lack of response from the other end of his phone, Robert added, "FATHER Robert Goren."

"Right… the "boyfriend…"

"Alex did explain that to you, didn't she?"

"Yeah, she finally let me in on the joke. That girl sure does have a strange sense of humor."

"Is Alex around? I'm returning a call she made to me this morning."

"Sorry, Father, she's out. The Captain sent her off to some meeting downtown this morning. Said she didn't know when she'd get back."

"It's nothing serious is it?"

"Hard to tell. Scuttlebutt around the water cooler says the boys down at 1 PP are setting up a Vice task force to crack down on the hookers the mob's got working down in Chelsea these days. If I had to put some money on it, I'd say Alex might be getting tapped to be part of that."

"Well. If she comes back to the office today, let her know I tried to reach her."

"Will do."

"Hey, Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"If this uh, task force pans out, what's that going to mean for you? Do…do you think they'll take both of you?"

"I think the writing is on the wall there, Father."

"You can call me Robert, Ray."

"Alex tells me you were in the Army, in the CID, Fath…uh, Robert."

"Yes, I was, why?"

"If you were putting together a special ops team, would you only invite SOME members of the team to a briefing?"

"No, I wouldn't. So you think they're going to split you and Alex up?"

"It's looking that way. No way to tell for sure till they actually say WHAT they're doing."

"I'm sorry."

"I'd hate like hell to lose her, she's a great partner."

"I doubt she wants to lose you either. She doesn't need that on top of everything else."

"Maybe a change of scenery would do her good. And it could be very good for her career if it goes well. Task forces tend to lead to promotions. A gold shield would be a great thing for her. Sure would make her old man proud, and that girl was born to be a cop. She's got great instincts, she's whip smart. She deserves to go as far as she can. Me, now, I just hope to get to where I can retire without getting injured."

"Well, hang in there Ray, and let's hope for the best for both of you."

"Here's hopin' Robert. If I see Alex I'll tell her you called."

"OK, thanks Ray. Bye."

Sighing, Robert opened his bottom desk drawer and pulled out his file for the local bakery, then picked the phone back up to make what he knew would be another frustrating phone call.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Later that night, Alex was in her kitchen leaning against the countertop waiting for the tea kettle to boil, and thinking back over the events of her day, when her phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Alex, it's Robert."

"Robert, Hi, did you get my message?"

"I did. I tried to get you at the precinct this afternoon, but Ray said you were out in a meeting. So I took a chance and thought I'd try you at home. It's not too late, is it?"

"No, it's fine. I was just fixing myself a cup a tea."

"Ugh. I just got back from a visit with a parishioner. She fixed me endless cups of tea, and I'm not much of a tea drinker. Plus, she's got this mangy old Persian with hair a mile long and an unhealthy obsession for my lap, and so I spent my evening sitting there, drinking tea I didn't want, sneezing, and brushing cat hair off my suit."

"Sounds like fun. So you're allergic to cats, huh?"

"See, there's an example of skilled detective work."

"Yeah, that's me, super detective," Alex replied with a bitter snort.

"Alex, everything OK?"

"It's been a hell of day, Robert. I'm sorry I had to cancel dinner. I just didn't know when the thing downtown would wrap up."

"Anything you're able to talk about?"

"What do you know?" she asked him suspiciously.

"Nothing, really."

"Oh, come on, you said you called the precinct and talked to Ray. What did that blabbermouth tell you?"

"He just said that you were at a meeting downtown and didn't know when you'd be back."

"And…"

"And … he'd heard rumors about a vice task force, and he thought you might be asked to join."

"Damn police grapevine."

"Damn _accurate_ police grapevine?"

"Well, it is a _police_ grapevine. How much did he know?"

"Does it have anything to do with the mob and prostitution in Chelsea?"

"Sheesh. I don't think there ARE any secrets in the NYPD."

"So he was right."

"Basically. It seems…" she was interrupted by the shrill whistle of her kettle boiling. "Hang on Robert, my water's boiling."

She turned the burner off, poured the hot water over her tea bag, reached into a drawer, grabbed a spoon, pulled the sugar bowl over to her, and sugared her tea liberally, as she heard in her ear, "So, Alex? Do you like your tea as well sugared as your coffee?"

"Yep, I've got my tea well sugared, thank you very much, and now I'm going to sit on my sofa and put my feet up."

"I can let you go…"

"Not on your life! I've been looking forward to talking to you all week, you're not getting away so fast."

"Ok, so, what CAN you tell me about this task force?"

"Well, as I started to say, it seems that the Masucci's have been moving in on the escort business in Chelsea, and the Commissioner wants to set up a task force to see what we might be able to do about it. I don't have details on specific assignments yet, today was just nine hours of background about surveillances that have been coordinated by Major Case over the past couple months. Their guy, Deakins, some of his people have been staking out places where some high powered rollers with ties to the mayor's office got fleeced by a couple of call girls. While investigating they uncovered the increased mob presence, and surprise surprise, a special task force was born. The Captains of all the various vice and racketeering squads were asked to recommend likely candidates, and my guy, Maxwell, naturally thought that I needed even more disruption in my life…"

"I know it's a lot of change all at once, but maybe this is a good thing?"

"Maybe, but today was a long day and I'm not too happy about all this change being dumped in my lap. If I accept this assignment…"

"Do you really have a choice?"

"Yes. Officially I could request not to be reassigned, although they might turn down my request. If I go through with this, it would mean leaving my partner –- some days that's more attractive than others -- and doing months of undercover work. Like I said we didn't get specifics, but they hinted that my bartending experience might come in handy."

"Bartending, huh?"

"A girl from the wrong side of the tracks has to work her way through college somehow. And honestly, learning to handle drunks is a very useful skill for a cop, especially female cops."

"If it helps any, Ray said that while he'd hate to lose you as a partner, he thinks this could be good for your career."

"Promotions don't seem to mean as much to me as they used to."

"I know. But try not to lose sight of the big picture. Let me ask you something. If you were having this conversation with Joe, what would he have to say about this opportunity?"

A silence fell between the two and shortly Robert had to ask, "You still there, Alex?"

"Yeah, I'm here. I just … I miss him so much. What he would have said is complicated."

"Tell me?"

"He would have been proud of me. We went through the Academy at the same time, and were always competitive, but no one was prouder of me than him. So he'd be pleased that I've been offered this chance. But, he was never all that happy with my assignment to vice. I can understand that. What husband wants to think of his wife out on the streets, and when you're both police officers… He knew I could take care of myself, he knew I had back-up, but he still worried about me putting myself in dangerous situations – ironic, huh? And I'm betting this task force will require more than the usual day to day undercover work. I think it's safe to say he would have been conflicted about all this. I know I am."

"Can you think of any big reason NOT to do it?"

"Not really. Like I said, I just don't know if I'm ready for this big a change, this quickly."

"Well, look at it this way, maybe it's a chance to leave behind the mini skirts and high-heeled boots while trolling Greenpoint late at night…"

"Actually I look good in a mini skirt… and those high heels make me taller…"

"What man could – or should -- argue with logic like that?"

"Damn straight! Although I suspect you're right to a point. I will probably end with a few more black cocktail dresses hanging in my closet."

"See, it's not a reassignment, it's just a chance to buy more clothes…"

"Well, when you put it like that… Say, by the way… your week is up."

"My week?"

"Don't tell me you don't remember…"

"I remember a lot of things. Can you be a little more specific?"

"I know we didn't end up having dinner. We'll have to find a time soon, by the way. But last Thursday night I gave you a week to figure out what my favorite kind of pie is. Care to take the challenge?"

"What's in it for me?"

"What do you want?"

"You want to make it interesting, Eames?"

"How so, Goren?"

"If I'm right, you have to join this task force and face this change. If I'm wrong, you get to stay where you are and bug the living daylights out of Ray."

"Yeah, but what's in it for you Robert?"

"Dinner with a woman wearing a black cocktail dress – I don't get a lot of opportunities like that these days…"

"Oh, what the hell, the chances of you guessing are slim anyway… deal."

"Eames, your favorite pie is peach."

"Could you at least stop and think about it for a minute?"

"Why, I've known for a week now."

"How?"

"So I'm right?"

"You seem to think you are…"

"Eames. You ordered a fruit plate with your omelet, right?"

"Right."

"The first fruit you ate was the peach slices. Furthermore, when I came to the precinct to pick you up, in the trash can next to your desk was an empty carton of peach yoghurt. And, that first day in my office, I could tell that you used some lotion or shampoo scented with peaches. I could smell it. Now… would you be so fond of peaches, and it NOT be your favorite pie? Also, I noted that it was NOT on the menu at the diner, which would be a reason for you to dare me to guess it, thinking that if it wasn't offered I wouldn't choose it. Now. Am I right?"

"Let's just say my little black dress will be coming out of the back of my closet sooner than I expected, damn you." And she swore to herself that she could hear him smiling, even over the phone.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9 -- Fathers and Mothers

_a/n: I may never get to any plot in this series of vignettes.. I have always been fascinated by episode 4 "The Faithful," Father McShale, and his story, so here's a tiny bit more of him…and another character I had no intention of including also showed up…it remains to be seen if that means anything…_

Father Mike McShale walked into the common room on the second floor of the rectory and saw, slumped down on the couch, a very dejected looking colleague.

"Hey, Bobby… everything OK?" he asked gently.

Bobby leaned back against the sofa cushions and sighed, barely acknowledging the other man's presence.

"You look like you could use a drink." Mike poured them each a tumbler of scotch from the sideboard and sat down next to his friend on the couch. After a short pause he asked softly "Rough visit?"

Bobby sat up, took the tumbler in both hands, and sat there swirling the amber liquid and staring into its depths.

"You know Mike, I should be used to it by now. I shouldn't let it get to me. She is who she is. But on days like today, the futility of it all just gets to me."

"She's your mother…"

"Christ, Mike, I don't need any more guilt."

"I wasn't trying to make you feel guilty Bobby. I was just stating a fact."

"I know the facts, Mike. The facts suck."

Downing his scotch in one gulp, and slamming his glass down on the coffee table, Bobby stood up and started pacing. Mike watched him for a while, and finally said, "You can't keep doing this to yourself. Every week you drive upstate to see her, and when you get back you sit here and rage at the world. You ask me "why?" You ask yourself "why?" You probably ask God "why?" Well, are you getting any answers? It's time to give yourself -- and her -- a break, Bobby."

"Give her a BREAK, Mike?" He almost laughed at the innocent stupidity of his friend's suggestion. 

Bobby paused, and wondered how much he could tell his friend. He really just wanted to forget the whole day, but he saw the concern in Mike's eyes, and he wondered if it might help to talk about it. He sat down in a chair across from the sofa and tried to explain.

"Look, every week I visit, and it's a crap shoot as to how she'll react. A lot of times it's pretty normal. We'll visit in the day room. Talk about books we're reading. Maybe play a game of Scrabble." He looked up at Mike and smiled, "I always lose."

"Then we'll have lunch in the cafeteria. Those are the good days when she's lucid and the most she has to complain about is the lousy food and the nurse's cold hands and the fact that her roommate snores. It's a lot like visiting any sick person in the hospital. Frankly, it's great training for what we do. But days like today, Mike, these are the days that try my patience -- days where she does nothing but harp and complain and blame me for locking her up -- days where she asks only after my brother, and accuses me of not letting him visit, of keeping him away to punish her. To see her so out of control and not be able to do one damn thing to help, to listen to the screaming and know that everyone can hear her rantings, to know that in that moment she really believes all the terrible things she's saying…"

"You have no idea what it's like to be so ashamed of your own flesh and blood, Mike, to have to hide them from the world. All my life I've had to protect her – from herself, from others, from those who were supposed to love her and didn't. You just don't know…"

Mike tried to respond, "Bobby, I…" but was cut off.

"Mike, today was so bad. I try so hard not to blame her. All of this is not her fault. But when she just keeps on about things I can do nothing about… " Bobby sighed heavily.

"You talked about facts, Mike? Well here's one. I am thirty-seven years old, and for the last THIRTY years I've been dealing with a crazy mother. Sometimes she's a little crazy, sometimes a lot, but always crazy. C-R-A-Z-Y. I can say it in fifteen different languages. I can define it. I can cite the medical diagnosis chapter and verse… but what good is all that knowledge, huh?

Eventually he continued, "I'm just so tired of dealing with all of this by myself…"

Full of nervous energy, Bobby wandered from the room. As he heard his friend going down the stairs, Mike sank down on the sofa, sighing, "Lord, you know I am SUCH a hypocrite… forgive me … and please, help my friend…"

Unsure of where his steps were taking him, but certain that he had to get away from people, Bobby found himself at last at the back of the church's sanctuary. He walked forward down the aisle until he stood in front of the altar. He closed his eyes and sank to his knees. He could smell the lilies that decorated the altar, the beeswax of the candles, the lemon oil the nuns used to polish the pews. He could feel subtle air currents tickling his cheeks and fluttering the altar cloths, providing him with gentle reminders of the way through this forest of doubt and despair. He took a deep breath and tried to still his thoughts.

His mind was still very much with his mother and her struggles. But, he thought ruefully to himself, "If nothing else, my mother taught me to talk to God. She led me here." It was she who had taken him to church when he was small, exposed him to the biblical stories of Noah, and Moses, given him his first illustrated Bible, and encouraged him to develop a personal relationship with a Father who in his forgiveness and charity was so unlike his own.

"God will always be there for you, Bobby. No matter who your father is with, or where he is, you can always turn to God. Talk to God, Bobby, he'll listen to you."

Clasping his hands and trying willfully to channel his rebellion and anger and frustration into prayer, he spoke, "Lord, I come before you as a willful and disobedient child. I have tried my best, but why, God, must it be so hard? I have come to you time and time again with questions, with complaints, with entreaties. My mother pleads with me to tell her why she is the way she is. I plead with you to give me answers…"

As Bobby tried to control his emotions, to form come coherent thoughts, he heard a loud voice from the back of the Church.

"Hey, Father Bobby… this old man… give a dog a bone!"

"Howard," he sighed. Standing and turning towards the back of the church, he saw a familiar looking homeless men jumping up and down and waving at him.

"Hey, Howard, how are you today?"

"Hey, Hey, Whaddya say? Does Bobby wanna come out and play?'

"No, Howard. No time to play right now. Have you eaten?"

'No way, man. Not going to eat down there. Shhhhh……There are sharks in those waters…"

"Sharks? What do the sharks look like?" Bobby had to follow Howard as he wound his way through the pews, crouching down and hiding from the sharks only he could see.

"Big, square, orange, mean-and-nasty sharks Daddy-o! Not going down there with no sharks."

"It's just fish sticks, Howard, they won't hurt you."

"Ain't eatin' no sticks. No sticky fishy. Nasty. I been down there. Just sticks and worms. No sir, not for me. Sticks and worms may break my bones. Give a dog a bone…"

"Howard. How about we go down and I make you some of my special peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. No sticks and no worms, I promise."

"Nutters for the nutty, huh Daddy?"

"Peanut butter and jelly just for you Howard."

"Butter nuts for the squirrel! Nuts are better for the buttered squirrel…" Howard rambled on as Bobby led him outside and around to the shelter entrance. After he'd made some sandwiches for Howard and gotten him settled down on a cot for the night, he went outside and stood on the sidewalk in front of the church. He felt restless and didn't quite know what to do with himself. So, tucking his hands in his pockets in defense of the chilly night air, he started across the street towards the park.

He wandered the perimeter of the park and tried to make sense out of his day. He knew he was upset about things he had no control over. But for some reason he couldn't seem to let go of his frustrations, and so he walked. Chased by his thoughts and the need to burn off his excess energy, he wandered the dark city streets. He was eventually brought out of his reverie as he was crossing from one corner to another and narrowly missed being run down by a cab. The driver honked and swore as he took off down the street in the perpetual rush of a New York cabbie. Bobby paused on the street corner and looked around trying to get his bearings. A glance at the street signs told him where he was, and looking around he found that he was standing outside a bar. He could see through the front window which was lit up with a neon sign that there were a few people inside laughing and talking. There was a pool table behind the bar, and a cluster of people gathered around it. He could see a few empty stools at the bar. Standing there on the corner with the wind whistling down the cross streets, Bobby shivered, and ducked into the bar to get out of the chill night air. He sat down next to a dark haired man sitting alone at the end of the bar and asked the bartender if they had any coffee.

"Coming right up, Father," replied the bored looking bartender.

At the word "Father" the dark-haired man swiveled on his stool, looked sharply at Bobby, grabbed his beer and moved to a table by the front window. Bobby noted this, but remained at the bar waiting for his coffee and idly watching the couples around the pool table.

When the bartender came back with the coffee, he looked over at the man who had moved from the bar, and said, "Hey, Logan, you ready for another one?"

"You know it Pete. Set 'em up."

"Do I look like a cocktail waitress, Logan? Get your sorry ass over here and get it yourself," the man replied setting another full glass on the bar.

"Aw, come on Pete, what did I do to deserve all this abuse?"

"You have to ask, Logan?"

"May I?" Bobby asked looking at the bartender, and picking up the beer.

"Your funeral," he replied, and went off down the bar to deal with the other customers.

"Yours I believe," Bobby said as he delivered the beer to the man's table.

"You needn't have bothered."

"It was no bother."

Brown eyes met green and read the unspoken contempt they contained. Bobby set the beer down in front of the man, and went back to his coffee.

The bartender came back to refill Bobby's empty coffee cup. "Don't mind my friend over there. He's making something of a career out of being a jerk."

"No law against that, as far as I know," Bobby replied with a small smile.

Pool games were won and lost, drinks served and consumed, the jukebox played a succession of songs, and still the two silent men sat wrapped up in their own problems.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 – Last Call

_a/n: the thought of Bobby and Mike talking just wouldn't let me go. I don't know that they'll ever really connect, but I wanted to at least leave the door open, even just a little… and apologies if this gets a bit esoteric at the end, I was trying to figure out a way to work out what is in Bobby's head, and he needed a little divine guidance :0) Next chapter, Bobby invites Alex for a special dinner._

"Last call, folks" said Pete to the small collection of stragglers still hanging around the bar near closing time. The dark haired man picked up his empty glass, and walked up to the bar. Logan caught the bartender's eye, "One for the road Pete."

Then he turned to the man in the dark suit who was still sitting at the bar drinking coffee.

"Hey, listen, sorry about earlier. Despite what Pete might think, I'm not always a jerk… only most of the time…"

"You didn't want to talk…I got that."

"It's not personal, it's just that… well it's been a crappy week… and priests… man… I am not a fan."

Bobby looked sharply at the other man, but Logan wouldn't or couldn't quite meet his gaze.

"_He can't meet my eyes_," Bobby thought to himself_. "Interesting… a shame response…there just aren't that many reasons why the mention of priests would make someone feel ashamed…unless… Oh, God, no…"_

Pete came by with a fresh beer, and took Logan's empty glass. "Well, well, well … Mike Logan talking to someone not wearing a skirt. What other miracles can you do Father?"

Bobby ignored the bartender's jibes, asking him "How much do I owe you?"

"Let's, see, three cups of coffee… that's three bucks…"

Bobby dug around in his pockets, dropped a crumpled five dollar bill on the bar and turned towards the door. He stood with his hand on the door handle for a moment, and then turned back. Seeing Pete go to the far end of the bar, he walked over to Logan who stood alone sipping his beer.

"Look, Logan is it?" Bobby asked quietly. Logan nodded as Bobby continued, "For, well, whatever happened to you… I'm truly sorry. I know how hard some things are to forgive. There's no reason for you to trust me, but if you ever want someone to talk to, for any reason, I'm at St. Justin's up in Alphabet City." With that, Bobby turned and walked back out onto the Manhattan streets, turned his collar up, and headed uptown.

Mike finished his beer called good night to Pete. As he walked down the street to his apartment building, he wondered idly what had driven this priest into this bar in the wee hours of this night. He was, as he himself said, no fan of priests, but he couldn't help feeling that this one had seen something that others had not. And that he had chosen to reach out to him, well, that was an action Mike Logan had not expected.

Bobby walked uptown, slower this time, but still running his day over and over again in his head trying to figure out how things had gone so wrong. When he got back to St. Justin's he considered going back inside and sitting in the sanctuary, but he knew Morris, the sexton, would have things locked up by now. He found himself in the park across the street from the church. There was a bench just visible in the glow of the light from the streetlamp, and he found himself sitting and staring up at the church. As he sat there, tracing the spires, the stained glass windows, the blue painted wrought-iron railings with his eyes, his thoughts took him back to his earlier conversation with God which Howard had interrupted.

When he was a boy, Bobby had developed an ability to imagine that he was sitting and chatting with God. This didn't always sit well with others, especially some of his superiors at the seminary who had less of an imagination than he had, but when particularly troubled, Bobby would sometimes give in to this particular fantasy in order to work things out. He was determined to deal with his unsettled thoughts, and "if I have to cast God as a divine psychotherapist to help me then so be it," he thought to himself.

Over the years, Bobby had mentally set these imaginary conversations in many places – coffee shops, grassy fields, a cozy living room in front of a roaring fire, once or twice he'd had these conversations with himself in a lonely guard shack during his time in the army. During a particularly difficult time when he was stationed in Korea and contemplating his calling, he'd really messed his head up by sitting in a Buddhist temple and trying to figure out why he kept imagining God in a kimono. But tonight's illusion felt a bit like he was waiting in a therapist's office. In his minds eye the bench he was on was a couch, and he was waiting for the arrival of his psychologist.

He closed his eyes, threaded his fingers together and sighed. Gently he whispered, "OK, so I'm back. Where were we?"

_You were whining about how much your life sucks…_

"Today, my life DID suck."

_A sick woman said some things to you that you know aren't true. That's all. _

"That's all? You were there – you heard her."

_You and I both know that it wasn't really her. It was her illness talking. _

"Yeah, I know. It's just so frustrating not to be able to do anything."

_You think that you're not doing anything?_

"Well, what AM I doing? What's the point?"

_The point for her, the point for you, or the point for me?_

"You tell me, you're supposed to know everything."

_Anyone ever tell you your attitude could use an adjustment?_

"Quite a few people"

_Good. You should listen to them._

"I know, I know…"

_Ok, so you want me to tell you what the point is. First you tell me what you did today. Walk me through you day._

"Oh, come on…"

_Hey, you're the one running this conversation, now spit it out…_

"Fine. Today was my day to visit my mom. I drove up to Carmel Ridge. When I brought my mom her lunch tray she accused me of trying to poison her. I tried to laugh it off telling her that I was sure that Salisbury steak and creamed corn weren't the greatest foods ever invented, but that they weren't going to harm her. But she couldn't let it go. All the usual garbage about how terrible a son I was for putting her there, and on and on. I tried to walk away a couple times so that we could both calm down, but the minute I would say I was leaving she would just get more upset and accuse me of not loving her. Over and over, back and forth, pushing and pulling… eventually I couldn't take it anymore and I just left. I left her there in her room, screaming at me not to leave her. But I had to, otherwise I wasn't sure what I would say to her, what I might do to her, in anger."

_So you walked away to protect her. _

"I guess you could look at it that way."

_But you don't?_

"I abandoned her. I should have had more patience. I should have been a better son."

_Could you have made her more rational at that moment?_

"No."

_Then perhaps you were helping her by not helping her._

"What's with all the psychobabble, huh?"

_You're the one reading psychology texts in your spare time. Try some fiction once in a while…_

"No, but, really, how is walking away from her helping her? I can still hear her screams as I walked down the hall out of that place."

_You can't control her. You can't make her rational. She has an illness that by its very definition makes her irrational. Expecting her to do something she can't is not helping. It doesn't help her, and it doesn't help you._

"I just feel so powerless."

_I know. But it's possible you've missed a way of looking at this._

"Oh, really – I've been mulling this over for hours and I think I've examined it about every way possible."

_Obviously not, since you're here talking to me._

"Ok, then, you tell me what I'm missing."

_First, you have to finish telling me about your day._

"Is any of that really relevant?"

_Would I have asked if it wasn't?_

"Um. Well… I drove back from upstate, narrowly avoiding a speeding ticket"

_Not your finest moment._

"Yeah, I know. And you know I know, so hush up and let me finish. I came back and talked to Mike."

_Did you really talk to him, or did you just use him as a verbal punching bag?_

"Ok, so I came back and I yelled at Mike. Then I tried to talk to you and Howard came and interrupted. By the time I got him settled down for the night, I needed to take a walk and think things through. So I walked until I almost got hit by a cab. Then I went into a bar and had some coffee to warm up. Then I came back here."

_You left out some stuff, but we'll get to that. Now let me ask you. You're mad because your mother won't let you help her?_

"More or less."

_What you aren't seeing is that not only are helping, but she is helping you._

"Give me a break!"

_Stop. If you did something to help someone but they didn't know that you were doing it, would you still be helping them._

"Of course."

_Then why can't you see that even if she doesn't realize it, even it she doesn't acknowledge it, you are still helping your mother?_

"Because I'm not looking at things the right way?"

_I never said you were stupid Bobby. Just a little confused. Just because she doesn't realize that you're helping her, doesn't mean that you're not. Furthermore, I don't think you realize how much SHE helps you._

"You want to elaborate on that?"

_For better or for worse, she has made you who you are. She has made you tolerant of human failings. I thought maybe talking to Howard would help you figure that out, but you're a bit dense today. _

"Since I'm so dense, maybe you'd better explain it to me."

_When Howard interrupted your prayers, you could have been angry. You could have told him to go away. But you didn't. You interrupted what you were doing to allay his fears, as off-base as they were. You took him down to the shelter and made sure he had food and a bed for the night. You were kind to someone in need. Don't you think dealing with your mother all these years helped you to cultivate an attitude of kindness, especially to those who can't help themselves?_

"It was my job."

_You do not have a 'job.' You live a life of service to others. It is who you are, and you can no more deny that than you can deny your height, or your hair color, or your penchant for convoluted thinking. Howard should have shown that to you. If he didn't Logan should have shot the point home, but you needed some more time to process all this, didn't you?_

"What does some drunk at a bar have to do with anything?"

_As you are so fond of saying… everything means something. You suspect that someone, probably a priest, abused him in some way don't you?_

"It occurred to me, yes."

_And yet you still tried to help him, even if you might be the last person he'd want help from._

"It seemed the right thing to do at the time."

_It was. He may never ask for your help. But you tried. That's all I can ask. It is not important that you succeed, but that you try._

"Ok, now you're sounding like Yoda."

_Perhaps he sounds like me?_

"That's just silly."

_Is it my fault that you're sitting on a bench in the middle of the night talking to yourself? _

St. Justin's chimes floated through the air, ringing four times.

"Well, listen to that. Four in the morning."

_I think our time is up._

"Very funny."

_Hey, it's your illusion. Do you think you can deal with the fact that sometimes we're more help to others than we realize?_

"I guess I have to."

_And will you apologize to Mike for being so crabby? He has his own problems with family you know._

"I'll apologize."

_Good, now get out of here and try and get some sleep. You have to be up in a couple hours._

"I'll try. Hey, thanks."

_You're welcome, Bobby. I'm here anytime you need me…_

"Yeah. My mother taught me that…"

Smiling, Bobby looked up at the church, and finally, found the peace he had been looking for all day…


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11 – Dinner with a Friend

_A/N: thought we needed to get them back together since they've been apart for a couple of chapters…thanks to all those still sticking around!!_

Alex looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She'd swept her hair up into a casual knot on the back of her head with a clip, and had tried out a new smoky eye shadow, all the while suspecting it was a color she was going to hate. And she had hated it, so she'd washed her face and started over with her makeup, only softer and subtler this time. She finished with the last swipe of lipstick, and out of habit, reached for the perfume bottles in the middle of the vanity. Not realizing at first which bottle she had grabbed, she dabbed some behind her ears and a touch more on her wrists. The spicy scent of the perfume took her, almost violently, back to the previous Christmas morning when Joe had handed her a somewhat clumsily wrapped package which contained the bottle she held in her hand. He'd haltingly said he didn't know if she would like it, but the salesgirl had recommended it, and he had liked it, so he hoped she would. In truth she preferred a lighter more citrusy scent, but if he liked it she was happy to wear it for him and tell him she loved it.

They had opened their presents, drunk hot chocolate, and when they eventually made love under the Christmas tree, she had worn only this perfume. As Joe held her in his arms, he had whispered in her ear that the perfume made it seem like they were on an exotic foreign vacation on some deserted island and from then on they smiled silently at each other in amusement whenever anyone mentioned "going on vacation." She missed that facet of their relationship. With Joe gone, she was the only one who spoke their particular dialect, their own private language. It was as if she had moved to a foreign country and must now converse in an unfamiliar language. She missed him in ways she was only beginning to discover. Starting and ending her days in this bathroom with its dual sinks, one now never used, was painful. Discovering his magazines in the mailbox when she got home from work was painful. Even going to the grocery store was painful, although sometimes she still bought things she knew were his favorites, just to try a get a little closer to the memory of him. It was the same reason his razor, toothbrush, and aftershave were still sitting there, next to his sink, untouched.

But here she was, in her bathroom, which she and Joe had renovated themselves, getting ready to go out to dinner with another man. She smiled as she thought about this unique man who had come into her life. She had met him on that day some months ago when Joe was killed and everything in her life changed, and he was becoming something of an anchor for her. He called her frequently in the evenings to see how her day had gone, and they often met some night during the week for coffee, or a drink, depending on their respective moods. "Never in a million years," she thought to herself, "would I have imagined that I would step into a friendship with a Catholic priest." But friends they had become. She often wondered why she didn't feel more awkward around him, but they just seemed to fit together. They disagreed on a lot of things. Their talks over coffee or late night phone calls were often heated arguments about everything under the sun. They would call each other while watching the late night news and debate local, regional, and national politics and issues far into the evening. But in spite of, or maybe because of, their differences, they found that they simply enjoyed each other's company. She kept waiting for the day that they would run out of topics for conversation, but she was beginning to suspect that that day was unlikely to dawn.

So here she was on a Thursday night in late August preparing to have dinner with Robert. It was a bit of a mystery to her why he had insisted on taking her out for dinner, but it seemed important to him, so she had agreed. He had even insisted on driving out to Rockaway to pick her up. She walked into the bedroom and glanced at herself in her mirrored closet doors. It was a hot summer night, and she had no idea where Robert was taking her, so she'd tried on a number of outfits. She'd settled finally on a sleeveless black wrap dress she'd found in the back of her closet with the price tag still attached. She couldn't remember buying it, but when she'd tried it on, it something about it just seemed right.

As she was throwing some things into a small evening bag, her doorbell rang. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand and saw that it was 7:30 on the dot. "Well, he gets points for punctuality," she thought to herself as she went to the front door. Ever the cautious cop she looked out the peephole in her door, and could see Robert standing on her front stoop in a dark suit and a plain white shirt, open at the neck.

She was suddenly a little shy as she opened the door, saying, "Hello…"

"Hi," he replied. "A-Are you ready?" he asked tentatively as they awkwardly stood and stared at each other.

"Yeah. Just let me grab my keys," she said crossing to the low table beside the sofa. She grabbed her keys and dropped them into her bag as he held the door open for her and then followed her down the steps to the sidewalk.

She looked around in confusion as he stopped beside a sleek, gleaming, vintage Mustang and opened the passenger door for her.

"Wait," she said, "that doesn't look like the kind of car that a priest should be driving…"

"I didn't think you'd appreciate being taken to dinner in one of the clunkers the parish owns, so I borrowed something from a buddy of mine who owns a garage. Isn't this better?"

"Not just better… it's terrific! What year is it?"

"It's a '61. My buddy said this was just the car that tonight called for."

"I worked part-time at a garage during college," Alex told him. "This is beautiful work."

"That buddy of mine, Lewis, I helped him out at his garage when I got out of the Army. So I guess both of us are greasemonkeys!"

"Well I'm not in the mood to do any work under the hood tonight, Goren."

"Never fear, Eames. Tonight we're going to relax and enjoy ourselves."

He held the door open for her as she got into the car, and then went around to the driver's side and got in.

The drive to the restaurant was something Alex never forgot… or let Bobby forget. She was white-knuckled when they pulled into the parking lot in Brooklyn. As Bobby stopped the car and turned to her she said to him, "Goren, do you drive a lot for work?"

"Some, why?"

"Ever have any passengers?"

"Occasionally," he replied, puzzled.

"Well riding with you is one of the more creative ways I can think of to convince people to reaffirm their faith in God."

"Alex?!"

"Robert, I just did more praying in the last half hour than I have in a very long time. You either let me drive home or I'm taking a taxi. Remember when I told you I was sure there were things about you that were sure to annoy me… well I finally found one."

He looked a little sheepish, but he held up his hands in defeat and handed her the keys.

"Good," she said, "now I can enjoy my evening without fearing for my life. So just where are you taking me?"

"To a little Italian place down the street."

"Sound great."

"I suppose I should warn you," he said as he opened her car door and helped her out. "My uncle Sal owns the place, although his kids run it now. He doesn't come in very often since he retired, but some nights he drops in to keep an eye on things."

As they walked down the street she asked, "are you sure they're not going to mind your showing up with me, um, given your, well, line of work…"

"Nothing I do surprises them much. They're used to me. Uncle Sal had me working for him all through high school. I started off bussing tables, and washing dishes. I've always been pretty handy in the kitchen, so after a while they had me doing prep work, and even a little baking. I worked there till I went into the Army."

He stopped under an awning, and gestured towards the door. "Well, here we are."

He opened the door and ushered her in. The hostess tucked a lock of her of dark curly hair behind her ear and looked towards the door as the bell jangled and a big smile lit up her face. She took one look at the tall man with dark curly hair similar to hers, and called "Bobby!"

He crossed to the woman and gave her a hug. "It's good to see you." He turned to Alex, and introduced the two women saying, "Alex, this is my cousin Mignonette. Netta, my friend, Alex."

"Bobby brought a friend… even more reason to celebrate then," Mignonette replied and showed them to a small table for two near the front window. She turned to Alex saying with a smile, "He always likes to sit where he can watch the people going by." Then she turned and went back to her station to deal with some new customers who had just arrived.

Bobby pulled Alex's chair out for her, somewhat to her surprise. "Is this ok, Alex?"

"Everything's fine. I like to people watch too… surveillance is my strong suit," she told him with a smile. "Or so my instructors at the academy used to tell me."

"I'm sure you've gotten very good at it with your work in Vice," Bobby told her.

"Let's not talk shop tonight. I'd rather talk about something more interesting that stakeouts and task force briefings," she replied.

Bobby started to respond when he caught sight of his Uncle Sal coming out of the kitchen wiping his hands on a towel. "Probably been in the kitchen tasting everything and getting in everyone's way," Bobby thought fondly. Sal's dark, sharp eyes surveyed the customers and when he saw Bobby he lit up with a huge smile, and headed for him.

Alex looked around as Bobby got suddenly to his feet to greet a somewhat diminutive older man.

"Roberto, it is so good to see you!"

"It's good to see you too Uncle Sal. Everything OK in the kitchen?"

"Ah, Roberto, you know how it is… the carpacio is too thick… the pasta … ay… she is too thin. They tell me not to worry. That I should stay home, but how am I to do this? How am I to relax when things are not as they could be."

"Well please, come and sit with me for a few minutes. There's someone I'd like you to meet. Uncle Sal, this is a good friend of mine, Alex Eames. Alex, my Uncle Salvatore."

"Ah, no, my boy. What kind of a name is Alex for such a beautiful woman? This little name, she must be short for something, eh?"

"Perdonarme, mio zio. Please, meet my friend Alexandra."

"Ah, so now the beautiful woman has also a beautiful name! My nephew has good taste in women. A rare talent for a priest. Welcome to Sal's Alexandra." Sal took Alex's hand and kissed it.

Blushing a bit, Alex said, "Won't you join us, Sal?"

"Now how can a man resist an invitation from a lovely woman?" Bobby pulled out his chair and seated his uncle, then grabbed a chair from an empty table for himself.

The restaurant was small but busy at this time of night. Alex swiftly met several more cousins as they arrived at the table bearing wine, and appetizers, and Sal entertained her by telling what was clearly an often told family tale of little six year old Bobby dragging a whole basket of lobsters out into the back yard one Christmas eve to set them free. Alex had to wipe away tears of laughter as she heard about the ensuing hunt through the snowy neighborhood to round up the escapees.

"No one has yet let me forget that I made everyone late for midnight mass," Bobby told Alex. "I was sure that God was mad at me, and that Santa Claus wouldn't bring such a bad boy presents. Not one of my finest holidays…"

"Roberto, you have always been a kind boy. What you have done for my…"

Here Mignonette arrived at the table, "Papa, Mamma is one the phone for you."

"Ah, and when Mama calls… " Sal said with a smile. He turned to his nephew and said, "I don't have to ask what you will be having for dinner do I?"

"No, Sal, you know what I always order…"

"And for your beautiful friend… we have a very nice lobster ravioli, if you would like …"

"Lobster, Uncle Sal?" asked Bobby with an amused glare.

"Why not? We make special foods for special occasions."

"Sounds great, Sal" Alex added, and she watched Father and daughter go off into the kitchen. Alex wondered at the troubled look she saw in Bobby's eyes as he watched his Uncle walk away.

"You have a nice family, Robert," she said, covering the hand he was nervously plucking at his napkin with. "Thank you for sharing them with me."

"My Uncle Sal and my Aunt Marguerite have always been there for me. I owe them a lot."

"I'm sure they're great, but come on, Robert, fess up. Why all the mystery. What could be so important that you had to take me all the way out here for dinner?"

_To be continued…_

_another a/n: I took Bobby's fondness for Sal's (Person of Interest), his knowledge of cooking (Phantom), baking (Fico di Capo) and kitchen paraphernalia (Death Roe) and his knowledge of restaurant jargon (Vacany) and helped myself to some purely speculative backstory. Plus I would like to think, however unlikely in canon, that he had some family to turn to when his mom and dad got out of control…_


	12. Chapter 12 Heart Notes

a/n: This seemed like the right month to post this.

From the previous chapter: "My Uncle Sal and my Aunt Marguerite have always been there for me. I owe them a lot."

"I'm sure they're great, but come on, Robert, fess up. Why all the mystery. What could be so important that you had to take me all the way out here for dinner?"

_To be continued…_

Chapter 12 – Heart Notes

"Alex?"

"Robert, I'm a cop. Solving mysteries is what I do, and you've been very mysterious about this whole evening. I'm just wondering why."

"There's no deep dark conspiracy, Alex, I just wanted to take you to dinner."

"But why here? Why tonight?"

He sighed quietly, and started to fiddle with the napkin in his lap. He seemed unable to look at her as he said softly, "it's silly…"

"If I promise not to laugh, will you tell me?"

"You know that Mustang that Lewis lent me? The one you won't let me drive?" He asked her with a small smile.

"Believe me, Robert, I will never forget riding in that car. I don't know whose life I was more concerned about, mine, or the cars! You probably stripped a couple gears on the way over here. But what does a '61 Mustang have to do with anything?"

"Someone recently reminded me that 'everything means something'… he said, almost to himself.

"Quit stalling, Goren, and just spit it out," Alex replied, gently.

"Ok, look. I know I haven't told you a lot about my family. Mostly it's a subject I've tried to avoid – with everyone – not just you. But, this," he said, motioning around the restaurant, "was always a place where I felt safe. It was always stressful at home. But when I was here, I could get away from things for a little while. Earn a little money, eat some decent food, talk to people who…"

Just as he was about to go on, he was interrupted by a tall dark haired man in a chef's jacket and striped apron carrying two plates. "Bobby! It's so good to see you. Netta told me you were here," he said as he set their plates on the table, "and that you'd brought a friend."

The two men embraced, and then Bobby turned to introduce his cousin to his friend. "Alex, this is my cousin Michel."

Michel had the same dark, lively eyes of his father, and Alex found herself on the receiving end of some very appreciative glances.

Michel reached across the table, picked up the wine bottle sitting there, and poured Alex another glass of wine as he murmured to her, "You can call me Mick. Everyone does."

"Certain unfeeling boy cousins called him a lot of other names… Itchy, Shelly, Missy…" Bobby added, sitting back in his seat, crossing his arms, and observing his cousin's interest in his friend.

"And certain boy cousins got punched in the nose for doing it, didn't they?" Michel asked. He and Bobby both laughed at the memory.

"Michel is Mignonette's brother, Alex. He took over as chef when his dad retired."

"Speaking of which," Mick said, "I better get back in the kitchen. By now Pop'll have re-seasoned everything. Besides, I need to check on a special order dessert." Mick turned to Alex, took her hand, and kissed it, and then looked up at her with a faint look of surprise, "What a lovely mysterious perfume Bobby's lovely friend Alexandra favors…" And with that he was off back to the kitchen with a wave and a wink.

"Well, Robert, you may not have told me much about your family, but I'm certainly meeting plenty of them."

"I wanted you to meet them… and I want to tell you about my family." He went back to playing with his napkin and avoiding Alex's eyes. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Since I met you I've come to realize that having friends is something I need and want. Spending time with you, talking with you, has been something that I've enjoyed very much. I don't want to hide the unpleasant parts of my life from you. You deserve better than that. Friends are supposed to share things with each other. So, tonight, well, it's a start anyway…"

"There's no rush, you know," she told him. "I enjoy our talks too, and there's a lot you don't know about me either. Things I don't talk about. Like this perfume your cousin noticed… this is the first time since Joe died that I've worn it. I didn't even intend to. I just wasn't watching which bottle I picked up. Joe gave it to me last Christmas, and it brings back memories of him so clearly."

"Scent is one of the most powerful memory triggers. May I?" he asked holding out his hand.

She put her hand in his, and he turned her hand over so that the palm was facing up, and leaned in for a whiff of her wrist.

"Joe had great taste," he said to her. "I noticed the scent of it in the car on the way over here, and picked out the predominant fragrances, but perfume is a wonderful subtle thing. He continued to sniff her wrist periodically and then, almost as if he were talking to himself, he said, "The predominant note is vetiver." At her look of surprise, he explained, "It's a fragrant Indian grass used in a lot of perfumes. The other top notes are vanilla and cardamom, with heart notes of …cocoa, clove, and nutmeg, and base notes of bergamot, orange, and… just a hint sandalwood. Very, very nice." He smiled at her appreciatively. "Exotic."

Quirking an eyebrow at him, she said, "You certainly know your perfumes…"

Shrugging, he replied with a twinkle in his eye, "I once dated a girl who worked at the perfume counter at Bloomingdales. I picked up a thing to two from her."

"You must have been a ladykiller in your day."

"What, I'm not still charming?"

"Well, let's see… aren't you the one who once mistook me for a hooker?"

"And the fact that I did speaks to your skill as an undercover officer…"

"Smooth, Robert, very smooth."

"See, charming…"

"Well, we'll see after I taste this ravioli. I don't think I've ever been out to dinner before where I never saw a menu. This had better be good."

"I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

"What did they bring you? You said you always order it."

"It's Veal Parmesan. I've just always loved Sal's version of it, so it's what I almost always have."

And so they ate and they talked. They tried each others food and decided that the veal parmesan was truly outstanding. He got her to tell him about her initial disastrous blind date with Joe, and how he finally won her over. She got him to tell her more about the mysterious perfume counter girlfriend who, it turned out, didn't react well when he told her he was considering the seminary.

"…She had dreams of a house in the suburbs, and kids, and dogs… and for a while I thought that's what I wanted too…"

"When did you know you wanted to be a priest, Robert?"

"In some ways, I've always known it. But I fought against it for so many years. It wasn't until my tour in Korea that I started to think about it seriously. When I was first posted there, we all got a visit from the base chaplain who made it his business to call on all the newly arrived soldiers. It was a pretty dark time in my life, and I didn't see any need for God, and I told him just how little I thought of what he did. I had left the first real love of my life in Germany, and I'm ashamed to recall the things I said to Tommy the first few times we met. But Father Ignacio Tomas turned my life around, Alex. I owe him so much. He's still in Korea ministering to the troops there. Such a great old guy – he's fluent in Italian, German, French, Korean, Russian, and with a good bit of Latin and a smattering of Hebrew and Aramaic. He can weave tales of history so spellbinding you find yourself on the edge of your seat waiting to see what happens. He helped me reconnect with my faith, and encouraged me to take some Religious Studies classes when I was at Columbia working on my undergrad psychology degree. I hope you can meet him someday if he's ever sent back to the States. I wrote him after I met you and he gave me some great advice on how to help you handle your grief."

"I don't need to be handled, Robert!"

"No, Alex, of course not, forgive me. You deserve to be loved, cared for, and appreciated, but never handled. There's something else that you deserve."

"What's that?"

"The truth about tonight… and dessert. Which would you like first?"

Alex laughed at him, and said, "Dessert ALWAYS comes first with me, Robert. Surely you've figured that out by now."

"I suspected as much," he said and nodded to the waiter he had come by to clear their empty plates. "I think we're ready for the surprise that Michel was working on for us now."

"As the waiter headed off to the kitchen, Bobby turned to Alex and said, "I hope you'll like what Mick and I have planned for dessert. Normally a celebration dinner like this includes cake, but I've never liked cake, so I asked him for something a bit different. Something I think you'll approve of…"

"Now you've got ME on the edge of my seat…"

"Don't worry, I won't keep you in suspense long. Look." Bobby pointed toward the kitchen, and Alex could see Mignonette and Mick coming out of the kitchen. Mignonette was carrying two plates, one of which was decorated with a small lit wax taper, and Mick a bottle in one hand, and a small wrapped box in the other.

"If you haven't figured it out by now, Alex, my purely selfish reason for asking you to dinner was so that I would have someone to celebrate this day with."

"Your birthday?" she asked him, the subtle clues sprinkled throughout the evening clicking into place.

"His birthday," Mignonette answered as she set the dish with the lit taper in front of Bobby and the other in front of Alex.

"He has never liked cake, so we didn't know what to plan for dessert until he told me of your fondness for peaches, Alex" added Michel. "So for your dining pleasure, we have a peach cobbler and some of my homemade vanilla bean ice cream on the side. And," he added, accepting small snifters from Mignonette who'd fetched them from the bar, "nothing goes better with peaches than a well aged brandy. It's not quite as old as Bobby... but I'm sure it will be very nice. The present is from Sal. Mom needed him at home or he would have been here to give it to you himself."

He poured four glasses and they all toasted the birthday boy, who paused for a moment after his first sip, closed his eyes, bowed his head, and then blew out his candle. After a hearty 'Happy Birthday Bobby' and a clap on the shoulder from Mick, and a kiss from Mignonette, they drifted off towards the kitchen leaving Bobby and Alex alone at the table.

"This was a wonderful surprise, Robert. I don't know what to say."

"There's no need to say anything. I'm just glad you could spend this evening with me. Now let's see if this cobbler meets with your approval before the ice cream melts…"

"But I would have gotten you something, if only I'd known…"

"You don't have to do that Alex."

"…Although I'm not sure what one gives a priest for their birthday…"

"There is something. Something you could do for me. But only if you want to…"

"What is it Robert? You know I'll do it if I can."

"Could you call me Bobby? My family does…"

Alex smiled up at him, picked up her snifter of brandy that Michel had left with the dessert, and said, "Happy Birthday Bobby…"


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 – Breakers**

The sea is never still.

It pounds on the shore

Restless as a young heart,

Hunting.

The sea speaks

And only the stormy hearts

Know what it says:

It is the face of a rough mother speaking.

_-- From "Young Sea" by Carl Sandburg_

_---------------------------------------------------------_

"This is the best part of living out here," she said softly as she watched the waves crashing on the moonlit shore. He had followed her lead when she parked the car, and turned to him and saying, "Let me show you one of my favorite places…"

"I love the ocean too," he said, leaning on the boardwalk railing beside her. "_These are the times of dreamy quietude, when beholding the tranquil beauty and brilliancy of the ocean's skin, one forgets the tiger heart that pants beneath it; and would not willingly remember, that this velvet paw but conceals a remorseless fang_."

"That's beautiful, Bobby."

"It's from Moby Dick." Bobby sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've lost count of the number of times I've read it over the years."

"I remembering having to read it in college, but I didn't like it that much, I'm afraid."

Bobby turned away from the woman standing next to him gazing out over the ocean. He leaned back against the weathered boards of the railing, crossed his arms, and wondered how much of what was running through his mind he dared share with Alex. Deciding to take a leap of faith, he tentatively asked, "Have you ever wondered why I've never talked about my mother, Alex?"

Sensing this question was a difficult one for him, she replied casually, "I noticed, sure, but didn't think too much about it. I guess it's natural that you'd think about her on your birthday." Taking a leap of her own, she gently asked, "Is she...?"

"Dead? God knows how many times I've wished she was."

"With any other man, I'd say that was a figure of speech, but with you..." she said as she turned, and looked up at him with a ghost of a smile in her eyes.

"If I were any other man my life would be a lot different. For a long time I wanted to be anyone but who I was."

He started pacing, and Alex watched him, sensing that he was trying to sort through his thoughts. He stopped suddenly and turned to her.

"What did you want for your eighth birthday?"

She was taken aback by this seemingly random question, but she thought back to when she was small and tried to answer his question. "I don't remember exactly, but I was crazy about horses and race cars back then, so they probably figured into my wish list. Most little girls ask for a pony at some point..."

He started pacing again, twining and untwining his fingers. When he crossed in front of Alex, he stopped, looked down at her and said, softly, "In the weeks before my eighth birthday, I slipped into church nearly every day, lit a candle, and prayed to God that when I turned eight I would be grown up enough to see the mysterious people that my mother spent so much time talking to."

"Oh, Bobby..."

He rubbed his forehead trying to dislodge the memories that writhed through his brain...

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_"Wake up birthday boy..." she said, running her fingers through her younger son's dark unruly curls._

_"Morning Mommy," he chirped, giving his mother a hug. "I've been awake for a long time. The sun got me up, and I've just been layin' here thinkin'..."_

_"What were you thinking about baby boy?"_

_"Lotsa things. I was thinkin' about what eight means."_

_"Well, one thing it means is that today is Bobby's day. So, did you think about what you would you like for breakfast?"_

_"I think I would like pancakes, please, Mommy."_

_"Then pancakes it is."_

_"Hurry and get dressed. There might just be a present for the birthday boy on the table."_

_"Oh, Boy! Wake up Frankie -- it's my birthday and mom's making pancakes."_

_"Shove off squirt... I don't wanna get up yet."_

_"But don'tcha want pancakes Frankie?"_

_"I want some peace and quiet," he said rolling over and putting the pillow over his head._

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_"Mom, where's Dad?"_

_"He left early this morning. You'll see him later. Now finish your breakfast, and make sure you drink all of your milk."_

_"I'm done. Can I open my present now?!"_

_She picked up his dishes from the table, put them in the sink and said, "Go ahead."_

_"It's a book! Robinson Crusoe. What's it about?"_

_"It's about a man who is shipwrecked on an island. You liked The Swiss Family Robinson. It's a little like that. There are some pretty big words, though, so you might need some help."_

_"It's OK Mommy, I'm eight now! And I like big words!"_

_"Happy Birthday Bobby. Now give your mother a hug, and run outside and play. The people are here and we have a lot to do..."_

_And clutching his book, he looked around with his big brown eyes and tried to see the people his mother was talking to as she walked away from him into the living room._

_-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_"Mom, Mom!"_

_"What is it Bobby? You know we don't like it when you slam the screen door."_

_"Sorry Mommy, but I saw Kevin at the park, and he said his Mom had new baby last night. He has a new little brother now! His name is Lewis."_

_"Did you see anyone else besides Kevin?"_

_"I saw Father Clarke outside the church. I told him it was my birthday and showed him my present. He said it was a good book. Oh, and he said now that I was eight maybe I wanted to come and help him out at church and be an altar boy. Do I have to?"_

_"We'll see. What did you and Kevin do at the park?"_

_"Played with his army men. Went on the swings. Then Kevin had to go home, so I played by myself. I watched some ants carrying..."_

_"Well, wash up, and then we'll have some quiet time before lunch."_

_"Can we please read my new book?"_

_"Do you like your present?"_

_"I do Mommy. I read the first chapter already."_

_"You sit on the sofa, while I close the curtains -- that keeps out the shiny bad people -- and we'll read some more of it." _

_"You read to me first, Mom, then I'll read to you."_

_"All settled? Here we go. Chapter Two -- Slavery and Escape. That evil influence which carried me first away from my father's house..."_

_-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_"Bobby, wake up. Come and see."_

_He had fallen asleep on the couch after lunch. The late afternoon sun was filtered through the closed curtains, and dust motes floated in the beams of light that fell between the blinds of the window at the top of the stairs. Whispering, she led him into the kitchen, and said, "Bobby, come and see your birthday cake. I made a special cake for my special boy. The good people helped me make it. We put in special ingredients to make this a magical cake just for you."_

_"It's magic, Mommy?"_

_"Except this special cake makes people go away... but remember it's our special secret. You can't tell anyone..."_

_"Frances, I'm home. Where's the birthday boy? Bobby?"_

_"Mommy and I are in the kitchen, Daddy...hurry!"_

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_"Make a wish, Bobby, and blow out your candles, then we can cut the cake."_

_"No, Daddy, NO! Please, I don't want... please... can we not eat any birthday cake. That's my wish."_

_"It's a silly wish, Bobby. Your mother worked hard to make this cake, and we're going to eat it."_

_"But you can't!"_

_"Why not?"_

_"I..."_

_"I made this cake just for you, Bobby, be a good boy and eat your cake."_

_"Listen to what your mother told you, Robert."_

_"But Daddy, wait... Mommy... please... I know you said..."_

_"Robert, listen to your mother. Sit down and be quiet, dammit!"_

_"NO! It's my cake, and I don't want anyone to eat it!!"_

_"What the fuck is up with him, Fran?"_

_"Yeah, Bobby, you are seriously mental. Stop being a jerk."_

_"No Frank, please, you don't understand..."_

_"Bobby, it's a special cake, it's just for you."_

_"Here, Bobby. Your mother made this for you, and you're going to eat it. Now take this plate and sit down, and shut up."_

_"No!! I can't. I won't." And he took his slice of cake and smashed the plate on the floor._

_"Come here, you little prick. I don't care if it is your birthday, you can't get away with crap like that in my house."_

_"No, Daddy, no," and he dodged around his father, and grabbed the cake off the table._

_"Give me that cake, Robert!!"_

_"No, please...please..." He tried to hold onto the cake, his father tried to grab it, and the cake slid out of both of their hands and crashed to the floor, splattering chocolate icing everywhere._

_----------------------------------------------------------------_

"She tried to poison your birthday cake?"

"I was never sure, but I didn't want anyone to eat it, just in case. My father took his belt to me and then left, my mother locked herself in her bedroom sobbing, and it took me most of the night to clean up the kitchen. No one ever mentioned the fight, and we never had birthday cake again, ever."

They were sitting on the steps leading down to the beach. His head was in his hands, and the last of the story came to her as a whisper.

"Oh, Bobby, I had no idea."

"No one did. For so long. My whole life my mother talked to people who weren't there, said and did strange things, but it wasn't until I was a teenager that we really knew what it was. It wasn't till then that we got an official diagnosis of schizophrenia.

"Where is she now?"

"In a residential program upstate in Carmel Ridge. I see her whenever I can, but I get the feeling she's never forgiven me for signing the papers to put here there."

She shivered then, and even she couldn't tell if it was from the breezes coming off the ocean, or from the story she had just heard.

"Are you cold."

"I'm OK."

"Here, take my jacket, and I'll walk you home." He looked at his watch. "I had no idea it was so late."

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He pulled into a parking space in front of the autobody shop, shut the engine off, and looked up to see if the lights were still on in the apartment above. Seeing them on, he took the stairs two at a time and knocked on the door. His friend opened the door, saying, "Come on in, Bobby."

"Here, Lewis, I wanted to bring the car back and give you the keys."

"You want a beer?"

"Can't. Gotta get back. Thanks for the loan of the car."

"Was she impressed?"

"She loved it."

"She sounds like the girl of my dreams..."

"How many of those have you had?"

"Hey, it's my birthday too, and I'll celebrate any way I want."

"OK Lewis, OK."

"Man, thirty, huh?"

"Don't look to me for sympathy Lewis, I'm eight years older than you. I remember the day you were born..."

_a/n: with thanks and apologies to the others who have suggested that chocolate cake may not be Bobby's favorite thing..._


	14. Chapter 14 More to the Story

Chapter 14 – More to the Story

October 25, 1998

New York City, NY

10:27 pm.

Father Robert Goren sat in a booth in the front window of a bar, reading a thick book by the light of a neon sign proclaiming "Peter J's" in bright red letters. Mike Logan stood outside in the moonlight and watched him.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Logan walked into his neighborhood bar and made himself at home on his favorite bar stool.

"Warm me up Pete. The ferry's damn cold on a night like tonight," he called to the bartender. Slipping a slim, spiral bound notebook out of the inside pocket of his leather coat, Logan flipped it open, and reviewed some case notes he'd made that afternoon. He felt he was missing something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what.

At the counter of a coffee shop across town Alex Eames sat reading a day old Ledger as she chased the remains of a piece of lemon meringue pie around on a plate with her finger.

They all sat, waiting.

The priest, engrossed in his volume of history, read intently, clerical collar slightly askew. Never taking his eyes off the pages in front of him he would occasionally sip from his glass of amber liquid. Logan watched the priest's reflection in the mirrors behind the bar. The man he was watching should have seemed out of place, but he didn't, and that was another thing Mike couldn't quite figure out.

The woman in the coffee shop was irritated. The person she was waiting for hadn't shown up. She pushed her bangs out of her eyes, and was about to turn and leave when the door of the coffee shop opened. "Whooo! Sure is nippy out there tonight," the newcomer said, her green satin pumps clicking across the floor, and she dropped down on a stool at the counter ordering a sweet black coffee from the waitress.

The priest finished the chapter he was reading, and the scotch he was drinking at nearly the same time. He checked his watch, and then looked towards the bar hoping to signal the bartender for another scotch when he met the green eyes of the cop at the bar, who had swiveled his bar stool around and was leaning back on the bar, one eyebrow raised. "Not out saving souls tonight, father?"

"Who says I'm not, Logan?" Mike's eyebrow went even higher in astonishment at the priest's response.

"You get stood up, honey?" the newcomer asked the blond. Outwardly, the blond shrugged. Inwardly her instincts were suddenly on alert. She sized up the newcomer who was obviously a man dressed as a woman. "You prob'ly don't need any personal advice from someone like me... but when it comes to man troubles, girlie, what I always say is, fix your roots and fix your face, and you'll fix your troubles. Us girls gotta stick together, 'specially if we wasn't born that way."

"You think a dye job'll cure my problems?"

"You come see me tomorrow, and I'll fix up that head of hair for you. You let Sissy do you and, shoot, you gonna haveta chase the men off with a stick."

"You must be some kind of a miracle worker."

"Well, doll, seeing is believing, right?" Sissy dug a card out of her purse and handed it to the blond woman. "I got some free time around two tomorrow. You come see me and I'll give you some highlights you ain't never gonna forget. Now I gotta go, cause I got a big hungry man waiting for me. Bye-bye honey." And with a final swallow of coffee and a turn and a wave at the door of the coffee shop, Sissy left with a swish of pink taffeta and crinolines, wrapped up against the chilly night air in a leopard print fur coat.

Meanwhile, in a pre-war brownstone on the upper west side, a couple was fighting yet again. "God dammit Nancy, don't tell me what I think! As it so happens I DON'T think you're invisible. How on earth could I when you're in here screaming at me every night?!"

"I have to scream to get your attention. If you're not at work, you're here, in your cave, wrapped up in whatever history book you've got your nose stuck in. Do you think the history in these books is more interesting than your own family, Danny, do you?"

Danny's reply was cut short by the ringing of the phone.

The bartender at Peter J's poured two more double scotches, and Mike Logan picked them both up. He slid into the booth opposite and handed the priest the second glass. "You've been pretty wrapped up in that book, Father. Anything interesting?"

"Adlai Copeland's new book _Winter of the Patriarchs_. I think it's his best one yet. Ever hear of him?"

"Nah, I'm not much of a reader... all I got on my coffee table is the PBA Newsletter and a few magazines I'm NOT reading the articles in," Logan chuckled.

"What's her name?"

"Who?"

"This month's Honey."

"I told ya, man, I ain't reading the articles. She's blond, built, and beautiful ... you know, the Marilyn Monroe type. That's all I need to know."

"You're a classy guy Logan," the priest replied with a twinkle in his eye.

"What about you, Father, what's a priest doing drinking in a bar late at night?"

"Waiting for a friend."

"What's her name?" Logan asked with a laugh.

"Alex," was the steady reply from the priest.

Logan took a sip of his drink, looked at the man sitting opposite him, checked his watch, and after a long pause, said, "Father, can I ask you something?"

The man tersely answered his phone, "Ross." His wife stood and watched him, arms crossed, unwilling to give up any ground.

"Hey Boss," came the voice at the other end of the line, "Morelli here. You said you wanted to be kept in the loop. Eames just phoned in and said she'd made initial contact with her potential CI and that they have a meeting set up for tomorrow afternoon. Prospects look good. The guy's a hairdresser at a salon down in Chelsea. She won't know how much the guy knows till tomorrow, but it sounds promising."

"Sounds like a good lead, Morelli, thanks for letting me know. See if you can dig up anything on the guy before our briefing tomorrow at nine."

"No problem, Lieutenant. Later." With that the cheerful detective hung up her phone and turned to her partner, saying, "I know Ross is kind of a control freak, but has he seemed especially tense to you lately?"

"How can you tell, Morelli? The guy's always wound pretty tight."

"You're a funny man, Brayder, now let's see what a couple of lowly detectives on the night shift can find out about this tranny hairdresser..."

The priest's curiosity was piqued. "What is it Logan?"

"As a priest, you must have some experience getting inside peoples head's right?"

"I've had some experience in that department, why? You got a problem?"

"It's not me, it's this case I'm working on."

"Case? Can I assume from your mention of the PBA newsletter that you're a cop?"

Logan raised his glass to the priest, "guilty as charged."

"So what's the problem?"

"What would a guy with new trophy wife need with a hooker?"

"You been faithful to every woman you've ever been with, Logan?" the priest asked him.

The wife continued to stare at her husband. "Don't even think that we're done talking about this Danny."

"Believe me, Nancy, I know you aren't going to let it go. But whether you like it or not, I have a job to do, and people to protect."

"It's always about other people, isn't it? Well what about your family, Danny? You pay more attention to those drug dealers than you ever do to us!"

"You knew I was a cop when you married me."

"You just don't see it," she sighed. "You've changed. It used to be about doing your job well. Now, it's all about whose ass you can kiss down at One PP."

"That's just not true."

"It is Danny. Maybe you can't see it, but I do. I knew what I was getting into when I married you. But we have two little boys who miss their Daddy. While you're out saving the world, I'm the one at home trying to explain to them why Daddy's never home, why he never spends any time with them."

Danny started to reply," Dammit, that's just not fair, I can't believe you'd lay all this crap on me, Nan. You really are a ..." when he was interrupted by a small voice at the study door, saying, "Daddy?"

Alex had been tempted to go back to the squadroom and change, but she decided she'd wasted enough of her time that evening sitting around waiting for Sissy to show up. She had a change of clothes in her gym bag in the trunk. She could change when she got there. She nudged her car through the cross-town traffic on her way to keep her last appointment of the day. She found a parking place not too far off from her destination, and got out, popping the trunk. She grabbed her duffel, and headed off down the street, headed for Peter J's. She stopped and smiled when, through the front window of the bar she saw the man she was supposed to meet talking animatedly to a dark haired man across from him. "At least he found someone to talk to," she thought to herself. She looked at the two men, and realized there was something familiar about the darker haired man. As she tried to figure it out, she ducked into the bar and approached their table.

"You boys having fun?" she asked stopping by their booth.

She was amused to see her friend stand up, meanwhile his companion leaned back and let his gaze wander, taking in the height of her heels, and the shortness of her skirt.

"Looks like you started the party without me. Why don't you get me a drink, and I'll be right back after I slip into something a little more comfortable." She chuckled, and headed off to find the ladies room, while the priest stepped to the bar and ordered her a drink. While he waited for the bartender he watched Logan's eyes follow her out of the room.

"She could eat you for breakfast, Logan. I'd watch myself."

"You know her?"

"I told you about her."

"I would remember that."

"You asked me the name of the woman I was waiting for, and I told you. Can I help it if you didn't take me seriously?"

"You don't play fair Father."

"Life's not fair, Logan, you of all people should know that."

He turned back to the bar to get the martini the bartender sat in front of him. He saw Alex headed back towards him, now dressed in jeans and a sweater. "How'd it go?" he asked, handing her the drink and motioning her towards his empty seat. "Great, I think. I thought she wasn't going to show, but finally we made contact. I guess sometimes it pays to have friends in low places." They both laughed, and he slid into the booth next to her. She turned to him and asked, "So, who's your new friend?"

"Detective Alexandra Eames, meet Detective Mike Logan."

"Logan? I knew there was something familiar...wait, not THE Mike Logan?"

Logan just shrugged in acknowledgement.

"So how's Staten Island treating you? You know, Bobby, we have a real NYPD celebrity here."

"Go ahead Detective, take your best shot, I've heard them all," Logan growled.

"You do have the nicest friends," Alex replied looking at her friend and sipping her drink. "Relax Logan, I've had a long day and I'm in no mood to argue.

"Look, I can go..."

"Nonsense Logan. What were you two talking about before?"

"Logan's got a dead hooker he's having trouble with."

"How much trouble can she be if she's dead?"

"You should talk to him about this. Eames is Vice, Logan. She might have some good advice for you."

"Ugh. No more work talk at least until I've had my first drink! You talk to him Goren. You were a cop once upon a time."

"What?"

"I bet he didn't mention that to you, did he Logan?"

"Not a peep. Well now, this is very interesting..."

"Logan, it was a long time ago. Army CID doesn't handle a lot of dead hookers."

"Yeah, well, neither does the Harbor Patrol, but there she was floating next to the guy's boat, and I just know there's more to the story."

_a/n: I think I'll leave them all here… I know this jumps around a lot, but I'm pretty happy with the flow. Hopefully it's not TOO confusing! It started out with an idea of them all reading (which they all are) and went from there…_


End file.
